


Some Things Begin As Ice

by idea_of_sarcasm



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-19
Updated: 2011-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-17 02:50:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idea_of_sarcasm/pseuds/idea_of_sarcasm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case involving potions analysis forces Michael and Lisa to finally deal properly with each other</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Things Begin As Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave any feedback or thoughts back at the original livejournal post [here](http://idea-of-sarcasm.livejournal.com/93009.html) if preferred!

Two witches walked into a pub.

Said like that, it sounded like the beginning of a dirty joke, but for Michael Corner it was reality. He had been sitting at a table in the Leaky, nursing a pint and waiting for Anthony and Terry to show up, when the flash of a red sari from the door caught his attention. It might be wizarding London he was sitting in, rather than out of the way Tutshill, but most of the population was stereotypically British. It didn't take indentifying her features to guess at Padma's identity; once open a time he might have considered her sister as an option, but the latter tended to favour muggle clothes that were often some shade of pink. Not that one really needed that sort of aid in telling the twins apart. Parvati was everything smiling and light, while Padma always seemed vaguely disapproving. He gave a wave and a half nod to Padma, who only narrowed her eyes slightly in response.

As she turned to levitate her cloak over to the wall, Michael saw the woman who was with her.

Lisa Turpin.

He gave the same acknowledgement, but her response was only slightly friendlier. It bothered him from her a little more however than it did the other witch. Nothing he could do though had ever been able to break through the shell, either of theirs – since school at least. Their group might not have been Slytherin, but their common room had been nothing like what he had always pictured that of the Puffs and the Gryffindors to be, full of easy camaraderie. They were a group by default, even now that they had all left school, but sometimes he wondered at the strength of the bond.

Merlin forbid if he'd decided to become an underling in a clothing shop, or a clerk for the Weasleys, or something with a similar lack of intellectual stimulation. Michael doubted any of them would have talked to him in the same way they did now.

He was always the one who had probably been considered the most likely to do something like that probably, in their Ravenclaw group. Not that any of them knew that he and the sorting hat had had a long discussion over his suitability for Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw. From what they could observe he was the one who cared the least about academic success, and the one who achieved it anyway despite his indifference, much to the consternation of some. They probably wouldn't have been surprised if he had decided not to care about prestige and the intellectually stimulating nature of his career and dedicated his life to farming flobberworms.

Michael turned his attention to the pint in front of him, though he had already taken in every aspect of Lisa's appearance, from the business set of robes she wore, to the fullness of her face. The latter was a welcome sight, considering. For awhile she'd looked so weary and gaunt even he'd wanted to feed her. At the very least he'd wanted to ship her off to his mum for an extended vacation. Yolanda Corner would have pampered her to death, like she tried to with Michael every time he came home, though he couldn't imagine anything else that would make Lisa any more uncomfortable.

He fully expected them to search for a table on their own, but it was the afternoon of the Quidditch match – Falcons versus Harpies, and every table in the pub was filled in anticipation of the broadcast on the wireless in a half hour or so. He felt a wry sort of amusement as Lisa and Padma shot each other a look before making their way over to the table he sat at on his own.

"Do you mind?" Lisa asked, motioning towards the empty seats.

"Of course he doesn't mind," Padma sat down without waiting for an invitation, arranging her clothes carefully. "It's not like he's going to be meeting a _woman_ here or anything."

"Just Terry and Anthony," he said mildly, kicking out one of the other chairs for Lisa to sit in. She hesitated only slightly before taking her seat.

"Terry might be a close enough substitute then," Padma said archly, motioning towards the bar for a menu to be levitated over.

Michael snorted, he couldn't help it, disloyal as it was to his mate. Years now since Hogwarts, and he still didn't understand Padma. Sometimes he wasn't sure if she was taking the piss, or meaning a serious insult. Considering Terry was on the pull more often than not, even if he had been graced with the longest eyelashes one had ever seen on a bloke and a fondness for listening to serials on the wireless, Michael chose to believe the former in this instance. Sometimes Padma could seem like, well, an uptight bitch at times. Merlin knew how she managed a career in inter-wizarding relations, but the Ministry seemed to like her for it. Somehow she and Lisa had always been close though, despite the fact that Michael wasn't sure Padma actually liked _people_.

Not that Lisa was warm and cuddly. Her attitude was one of icy reserve though, more than a seeming attitude of contempt.

"Here to listen to the match?" He asked by way of making conversation.

"No," Lisa said, grabbing one of the menus that flew over from the former Puff behind the bar, "but it's a nice side benefit if Padma decides to linger over her drink." The other woman snorted, and waved her hand dismissively. She'd been one of the few who had little use for the sport. Lisa had done her turn at chaser for the Claws for a few years, and could discuss the major players in the professional world, but Michael was fairly sure her interest had always been rather...academic. Of course, even the most rabid fan was usually quite analytical, so she wasn't unique in that. "I'm going home to visit my mother after though." She didn't elaborate beyond that.

He tended to forget about the Leaky's purpose as serving as a gateway to the muggle world. He had only ever used it once in that respect himself, during a trip with a muggleborn co-worker for a non-magical potions ingredient the stores in Diagon Alley had been low on. He was fairly sure he'd come off like a complete arse, fascinated by everything around him. At least he was a Ravenclaw, who had been fascinated from a more academic perspective, not a Slytherin who was disgusted with every difference he saw.

From what he knew though, the very muggleborn Lisa didn't go back often. Not that he would know that from her. It was the second hand gossip of the Ravenclaw network.

She hadn't talked to him properly since school, not that they had ever been best mates in school. He fully admitted he'd tried the hardest with her though. There was something that drew him too her, both in the past and now. It wasn't just trying to achieve the unattainable – if that was the allure he'd have been lusting after Padma nearly as much. There had been a thawing, a slight thawing, over a study session late one night in the library, and Michael had been given hope.

And then Voldemort and the Death Eaters happened, and things changed - even if he still wasn't sure why it had ruined a chance of anything between them.

"How is work?" Michael asked, as pondering on that slid through his mind.

"Just fine," Padma raised her eyebrows, "I've been tasked to sit on the Ministry team that's going to conduct negotiations with the Canadian wizards about...." She gave a terse smile when he shot her a look. "Oh, I suppose you weren't asking me, were you? Please, do go on discussing your potions," on her lips the word sounded somehow derogatory, "while I sit here and contemplate the state of measly world affairs."

"You're just bitter about the fact you couldn't get into the NEWT potions class," Michael couldn't resist needling her, even if it was a very old topic. Especially because he knew despite that fact it was guaranteed to get a response.

On cue, Padma narrowed her eyes at him. "I didn't want to study potions anyway," she stressed, "but honest to Merlin, letting Ron Weasley in with the _exact same mark_ despite the fact he couldn't brew his way out of a paper bag, when it was 'strongly suggested' by our head of house to avoid the class despite the new technicality." The memory still left a sour look on her face. Padma, and to be fair, most Ravenclaws really didn't take well to not being top at everything academically. That only four of their number had got into the potions class sixth year was still a sore spot.

However Michael let his attention turn to Lisa, whom he'd meant to ask the question of anyway. She had been one of the four, along with him, Terry, and Anthony Goldstein. Though she'd sat her NEWTs months later than him, she'd gotten the coveted potions consultant job for the Ministry of Magic. He had been relegated to something sadly and humiliating commercial, working in experimental brewing for 'Potent Potions', the largest potions conglomerate in Britain. If he were the bitter sort, he might have considered the offering of the Ministry position to Lisa to be a result of the bending over backwards for muggleborns that had followed Voldemort's reign.

And, well, he could be at times – but he knew Lisa had come by the job honestly. She had always been the best of them, though he was a close second if he said so himself.

"Is this an attempt then to get me to break the secrecy contract I signed with the Ministry?" Lisa asked with raised eyebrows.

"Never," he held a hand over his heart, "I swear. Just making pleasant conversation." In reality the conversation hadn't been all altruistic and in the name of making small talk. The Ravenclaw part of him twitched to know the cases she was brought in on. Interesting potions, dark potions, crimes using potions, old formulas found – the Ministry got all the good stuff. With work in experimental potions the only interest was from formula inventions he created himself, which wasn't quite the same thing usually. At least he wasn't one of the drones brewing standard potions all day. He'd have to _avada_ himself if that was the case.

"So how is brewing for the commercial gods?" Lisa asked with arched eyebrows.

Michael whistled. "Low blow. At least I'm given free rein in development. Aren't you just brought it to advise on _others_ brilliant ideas most of the time?"

Her eyes narrowed in a way that was much too reminiscent of Padma. "Who is getting petty now?"

"So basically discussing work is out then," he said with a laugh, "considering I think some variant of this happens _every_ time."

"So what does that leave then considering we're both married to our jobs?"

"Ancient runes?" It was Terry's voice interrupting them as he plopped down in the last remaining chair. He grinned, leaning back, his tall frame barely fitting under the table. "I admit I'm biased though. It's just because I know I can win any argument on that every time. You lazy sods never bothered to learn anything beyond the cursory amount on the subject." An interpreter for the National Wizarding Museum, he could certainly talk circles around them on runes. None of the rest of the Claws had taken it to the NEWT level, deeming it too irrelevant.

"At least you can discuss your work," Anthony said, sounding morose, transfiguring himself a chair out of a bar napkin and sitting down. Not that that was an unusual occurrence. Anthony always sounded morose and serious, and was a man of few words. Unless he was cheering for the Falcons, at which point he became much livelier.

"Please," Lisa said, "you enjoy the fact your secrecy requirements are much more stringent than even mine. I have top level clearance at the Ministry, and even I don't know exactly what you do." An Unspeakable, Anthony literally could not discuss anything about his work. It was true though for all he might pretend otherwise, he was a little too smug about that fact, pointing it out as often as possible.

"Nobody is ever going to marry you," Padma said, "considering your whole life will be a secret to them."

"Nobody was ever going to marry him anyway," Lisa replied, her tone even rather than with obvious humour another woman might have implied, "I mean, it's _Anthony_."

Despite the fact that males outnumbered the females in the group that still maintained contact from their house, Michael was fairly sure the three of them were always at the disadvantage. It took a lot to keep up with the women's level of insulting indifference and well...just plain insult. He had been annoyed when Terry and Anthony had sat down, considering he enjoyed even just getting a chance to bicker with Lisa, but it was easy to smile and wave for another pint. Despite the fact he could be frustrated with them at the best of times, it was nice to have the Claws together. It didn't happen all that often – they weren't the sentimental type.

"Not everybody's end goal is marriage," Terry pointed out lazily, "there are many cultures that even look on monogamy as an aberration. Try not to paint us all with your enthnocentric brush Miss Patil."

It was gratifying for Michael to see it wasn't just him who provoked her to annoyance. "Just because you will shag anything that moves," she snapped, "doesn't mean that everybody is looking for a different bed partner every night." It was obvious she was beyond annoyed though, if she was descending into petty insults. Padma did what she termed 'academic discourse', she didn't descend into the personal.

Except with Terry.

"Not everything that moves," Terry pretended to ponder, "just everything without a y chromosome, and with enough intelligence to remember to take the potion beforehand." Considering the potions efficacy was nearly one hundred percent, it was fairly hard to get knocked up or catch a venereal disease in the wizarding world.

"Not much more than that though I'm sure," Padma remarked sarcastically. "After all you must enjoy finding _somebody_ who can look up to you with wonder in their eyes."

"It beats finding somebody who chooses to look with blind hatred," his voice was quiet.

It took the strength out of Padma's vitriol. It hadn't just been friendly bickering with the two of them, it never was, especially not since school when they were without parental or professorial supervision. It was a complicated thing, Terry and Padma. They had been rather obviously attracted to each other for a long time, but never at the point or mindset to do anything about it. The only things they had in common beyond their attraction were their pureblood status, and their academic nature. It wasn't just the sexual promiscuity on Terry's part that held them apart, though it was probably a large part of it. In some ways at least, Padma was very traditional.

Still, what it came down to was instead of simply shagging or working it out between them, they bickered more often than not.

Michael cleared his throat, choosing to be the one who stopped awkwardness from descending. "Please you two, stop bickering so snidely, or somebody listening might think we left school as Slytherins."

Anthony was the one who snorted, taking up the familiar if not all that serious snide remarks. "Better than Hufflepuffs."

Padma managed to tear her attention away from Terry to comment with a wave of her hand, "No, I think Gryffindors are the scourge. They are action without thought. How is that in any way a good thing?"

It was a conversation they'd had time and time before, and would again, even now not being at Hogwarts anymore. Every house considered themselves superior, and even in a world that was more about equality in every way, that hadn't changed. Especially with the Ravenclaws.

"We sound like we're twelve," Lisa remarked.

"But with better income," Michael remarked, "and our own flats."

At least the other men snickered in response.

 

*************************

 

Lisa was the one who had to break up the festivities of sorts, needing to leave once she had finished her drink. It wasn't that she couldn't stay, because it would be nice to stay and listen to the match, but more that she shouldn't. Her mother would never say anything, but she would imply disappointment in every way if Lisa was late. It might be manufactures solely for guilt, but it affected her all the same. Her mother was the one person who could get to her, especially now; now that she was all Lisa really had left, when it came right down to it.

She would have preferred to stay though, for a multitude of reasons.

There might have been a lingering gaze towards Michael if she hadn't stopped it. Maybe she hadn't entirely, because there was a pointed look from Padma when she got up too, announcing that she'd walk a ways with Lisa on her way to her Mum's. She was one of the few that Lisa didn't have to worry about coming along; having come multiple times to the muggle side with her, she was comfortable enough in the surroundings she could come back on her own.

They were walking down Charing Cross Road when Padma finally decided to speak.

"I thought you wanted to avoid him," she said mildly.

"We'll talk about him the second you want to talk about Terry," Lisa responded, not looking over at her friend.

For a second she thought Padma might actually pursue it. It was a futile hope and despair both though because the other woman only nodded, as they walked past muggles and fast driving cars. It wasn't that she wanted to talk about Michael, but sometimes it might be nice if she could.

Padma might be her best friend though, but they weren't like say her sister Parvati and Lavender Brown. They didn't talk emotions, in fact more often than not they pretended not to have any. They didn't talk about men, preferring to believe they had little interest. And the rest, most anything personal, they only alluded to rather than acknowledged. There had been one exception, when Lisa was at the lowest point in her life, but it was the one time only. Sometimes, she wondered how they could be close in spite of all that. Maybe it was that they read things non-verbally the other person refused to let out any other way.

It was at the nearest tube station that Padma turned to her, obviously having decided to turn back. "Enjoy your visit with your mum," she said.

"Not exactly a high chance of that," Lisa remarked dryly. "However I appreciate the sentiment."

Padma hesitated, but gave Lisa's arm a quick squeeze before turning and walking back at a brisk pace towards the Leaky Cauldron's entrance. It was the most physically affectionate the other woman ever got.

Deciding she was delaying, despite the nice day for walking, Lisa hailed a taxi with her friend's departure. She gave an awkward nod of her head to the driver that picked her up as she slid in. It was a source of constant analysis for her how she could be so uncomfortable in non-magical surroundings despite them being the ones she grew up in. Even now, she had to think about the relative merits of the Pounds she carried in a special pocket in her purse, when she was used to dealing in the value of Knuts and Galleons. It probably didn't help that she rarely came back – it was just in so many ways it was easier not to.

Nicolette Turpin's place in London, the place she and Lisa's father had bought when they married all those years ago, was opulent. It wasn't just the location that had skyrocketed the cost, it was the interior. Spacious and decorated to the nines, it was everything that most people aspired to live in. After the taxi had let her off, Lisa didn't stand in awe however, she was too used to the environment of it, and everything it represented.

It had been odd adjusting to the wizarding world because of it. In the muggle world the Turpins were high society, in the wizarding world she was something on the bottom of the blood purists shoes because of her birth. It was a constant blessing she had been sorted into Ravenclaw where acceptance was more a matter of intelligence and accomplishments rather than anything more base; everyone in her year save herself was pureblood, but that wasn't a factor once they realized what she was capable of. It was hardly warm, and it was more work, but it was an environment Lisa could adapt to. In some ways the lack of pesky emotions in the way they tended to function was like the environment she had grown up with.

Of course there was Michael, who sometimes tended to be the complete antithesis of the attitude of Ravenclaw, but he was the exception rather than the rule.

"Lisa," her mother said with a smile, opening the door. There were no hugs and effusive greetings from Nicolette, but the fact she hadn't sent one of her 'assistants' to greet Lisa was enough of a sign of affection.

"Mother," Lisa said, kissing the air somewhere near her cheek, "sorry I'm late."

Nicolette had been born in France, and the accent remained, though she dissolved into that language only when aggravated. She had met Bernard Turpin at some reception, the latter serving as a Member of Parliament for the English government – though from much more humble origins. They had made an odd sort of sense, her parents, and not just because they were matched in some respects socially. They had actually loved each other, in a sort of world where that was all too rare.

Her apologies were waved aside, as Nicolette turned and strode towards the sitting room. "I have had the cook prepare your favourite," she said, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor, "those delicious little scones that...." her voice trailed off as she walked further ahead.

Lisa's attention was caught however, and she'd stopped short at a table near the entrance. There were new photos there, encased in silver frames. It didn't escape her notice that the family photos were gone, the ones of the three of them. This time it was her father and mother at their most important; at political functions, at receptions for her mother's job, and an intimate one with smiles shortly after their marriage. They were distinctly muggle shots, so still and unmoving, but they captured so much still.

Her hand reached out to trace over her father's face, caught by a stray burst of emotion.

When she pulled her hand back slowly, it was to find her mother staring at her with an odd expression on her face, having turned back once she realized Lisa wasn't following.

"It is a nice photo," Lisa said quietly, at a loss of what else to offer, feeling helpless in the moment, not something she relished.

Nicolette nodded jerkily, before turning around, speaking again of scones and tea – expecting this time her daughter would follow.

Lisa did, but at a slower pace. Right then, her mother's words were to fill the silence, not anything to be responded too. It was easier for her not to come back, but for all her mother pressured her into it, it was easier for her as well if Lisa only came by occasionally. It was a more than complicated situation between them, with her father gone.

Her hand slid unconsciously to rub at the ridged tissue on her wrist.

They sat in the dining room for tea, chairs at a close enough distance to be able to hear each other. Yelling of course would be uncouth. Nicolette had delved into inanities again, about people who were central in her life, but Lisa hadn't seen in years. It left her free to contemplate and analyze, which she felt compelled to do every time she was in her mother's presence. She never doubted the woman's love, but she never was sure what was there beyond that.

Her history was something that was largely a matter of public record, but it wasn't something she ever discussed. Not since the one night with Padma.

That year Voldemort had taken over she had gone back to Hogwarts. Of course she had, she hadn't known any better. Her wilful ignorance humiliated and grated even now. It had been different for her, considering she'd lived entirely in the muggle world when she wasn't at school. That didn't mean she hadn't know _something_ , but she hadn't believed, not entirely. It had become apparent when she'd got on a train patrolled by Death Eaters that she had been wrong. When she'd been officially taken into custody and sent to the Ministry for questioning, her brain had shut down for just a moment. Not a feeling one relished when one was a Ravenclaw and that was you prided yourself on, and relied on.

Even sitting in the bowels of the Ministry it still hadn't seemed quite real, because none of it made any _sense_. She hadn't stolen her magic, how could she have? Everything she had ever been read or taught, and everything she had learned by direct observation, meant that she couldn't have. How could people in power believe that muggleborns had? Like many of the muggleborns though, she'd had family with her. In her case though, it had been a muggle – her father. A member of parliament he was used to getting his way, and used to having sway, and had insisted on coming when her friends had managed to get a hold of her family. It had never really occurred to either of them exactly how much that played into their hands, letting him come.

When he'd become irate and threatening during her sham of a 'hearing' they'd _avada_ 'd him. With her still in shock, they'd decided to send her to Azkaban. She would have been there for the duration of the war as well if it hadn't been for one of the halfbloods in a similar position having a spare wand tucked in his shoe and confounding the Death Eater who'd been escorting them.

The rest of the year, she'd spent on the run.

Lisa supposed in a way there were others who were grateful for the fact he had been one of the ones who had met very similar fates. A murder of one of their own MPs is what had got the muggle government entirely willing to be on their side. Initially they had been presented with Thicknisse as a legitimate Minister of Magic, and the wizard normally guarding the PM attending to other duties. They hadn't realized exactly what the eventual intent was towards muggles, or at least hadn't believed it.

The murder, when they'd found out about it, had convinced them.

She couldn't be grateful though, it had been her _father_. She couldn't be happy for any of it, when it had ripped her life apart.

All of it was the reason for the gap between her and her mother too that they couldn't quite narrow entirely, no matter how much they loved one another.

Nicolette had always said all the right things. She had been the one who never judged when Lisa had sat stone cold and silent during her father's memorial a year later when his body was "found", understanding it was too much emotion rather than a lack of it that held her that way. It had been her who had tried to convince Lisa to see a therapist, statute of secrecy be damned, because those didn't exist in the wizarding world; she had felt it was owed to her daughter, and would have taken it to the Minister herself if Lisa had let her. It had been her too, not one of the servants, who had come to sit with her when Lisa got up night after night, unable to sleep – puttering around in the kitchen for warm milk.

Still, there was something not there anymore.

Lisa forced a smile as Nicolette nattered on about her being too skinny, and pushed over the plate of scones.

 

*************************

 

"Bugger," Michael muttered under his breath.

The potion had turned a nasty shade of green, but he forced himself to patience. Perhaps that was what was needed. Merlin knew he'd learned yesterday the lovely pale violet potion he'd produced was not the solution, considering the fact they were still cleaning up in the lab downstairs from the result of it. Today he'd substituted dicing of the dragonfly thorax for grinding, and it had drastically changed the properties as he'd hoped it would – as dicing often led to a more subtle effect of the ingredient which he hoped would be the solution. He was trying to come up with a potion that would serve as an energy drink for Quidditch players and other athletes whom had to play day long games, and the endurance properties of the dragonfly thorax should be the solution.

It wasn't quite curing the incurable diseases, which sometimes he did get to try his hand at, but it was occasionally the life of corporate potions development that he lived with – and a potion like that would make the company a lot of galleons.

"Michael." The calling of his name rarely registered. Nothing usually did when he was working.

It took a tap on his shoulder to bring him to himself. Annoyed, Michael cast a stasis charm of the brewing to hold it until he could give his full attention again. In such a delicate process, he had to be able to catalogue every step.

"What?" He almost snapped, before realizing he was supposed to be the easy going one. And he was. Usually. Just not when he was in the middle of a potion.

He almost groaned when he saw that it was Pansy Parkinson who had invaded his lab. She was usually the only one who would do so without so much as a knock. Of course there was always the possibility that she had this time considering how engrossed he was, but it would be going against precedent. She might be the only one of his year who'd been taken on by the company, but they were far from mates. He probably had a lot more in common with Jeremy Humplewich who cleaned the labs at night. However they coexisted decently enough because he quite simply didn't care if she acted like a bitch quite regularly and she did have a hand with potions, he would grant her that.

"Ideas from the marketing committee that they want us to prioritize," she said, tossing some parchment onto his desk, setting his teeth slightly on edge as they got too close to the cauldron. "Pick it up yourself next time."

"But the role of secretary suits you so well," he remarked, knowing that would garner a response.

Right on cue her eyes narrowed. Before she could deliver what he was sure would be a properly scathing response, Michael looked at the list she had brought and did groan aloud this time.

"They know these are not going to happen, right?" He read further down the list, looking at what the company wanted them to try and develop. Every once in awhile if the owner felt his pockets weren't deep enough he consulted a committee to see what potions would be most palatable to the general public. Half the time they came up with things distinctly unbrewable – for example, if the cure for sneezing could be found in a cauldron it would have been developed decades ago, and the rest were mind numbingly awful. For the other half they had come up with things that insulted his talents and abilities.

"Perhaps they're beyond _your_ capabilities," Pansy said archly, sweeping out of his lab before he could say anything back.

Not that he would, unless it was reverse psychology to get her to dedicate her efforts to those projexts. If anything, she was welcome to the list to try and pacify the higher ups. Half of those things he'd rather gouge out his eyes than attempt.

Before he could return to his cauldron, the wispy form of a patronus appeared in the room.

Something that was supposed to be this important skill, here it was often used as interoffice communication.

"Floo call in the main office," were the words out of the lynx that belonged to Jillian Norwick, the lab administrator, before it faded into thin air.

Resigning himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get as much accomplished as he'd planned that morning, Michael made sure to cast wards around his potion to make sure nobody could get to it. If there was one thing he was paranoid about, his brewing work was it – even here in a quite secure building. Once that was done he made his way to the main office, nodding at acquaintances as he went. He had his doubts about it being anything important, usually any communication he got was from his Mum, much as he admonished her that she should never contact him at work. Ever since his parents had sent him off to a Death Eater controlled Hogwarts, and with the stories they knew of what went on there, she had been a little clingier than she would normally be to an adult child.

It wasn't his mum's face that he made out in the fireplace though.

"Lisa," he said, surprised as he bent down to the flames, shocked to have her on the other end of the floo. If nothing else he knew she liked to avoid it; it wasn't exactly comfortable experience, and muggleborns took to it even less.

"It's not a personal call," she said in a cool tone. If it was possible to interpret a cool tone through the floo network.

"Of course it isn't," he remarked dryly, "I would never assume otherwise."

He really didn't understand her. He was fairly sure he never would. Half the time now she was so intent on not thawing around him as anything more than a friend, she didn't even allow herself that sort of connection. Lisa hesitated now, seeming to search for something in his words, but eventually left it alone and continued.

"I got a call from the magical law department office," she said, "they're worried about the patents for one of your potions and...."

"....don't know the difference between grumblebumble and graphorn parts."

She paused, but nodded. "In essence."

"If this is your life I'm glad I didn't get the Ministry job after all," he couldn't resist needling her. He knew though this was probably her most mundane duty, and rare enough too.

"If you would be so kind as to indulge us people who have better things to do with their day," she clipped out.

Michael had just been trying to joke with her, but he was aware that was most often a futile effort these days. Instead, he only sighed, asking, "The memory potion?" It could only be that though, considering it was his best success in the last few months, an enhancement on the standard memory charm that worked far better. It would likely be peddled to students before exams, but it wasn't his job to worry about the ethical implications. Besides, he liked to fancy it could used as daily treatments for those who were losing their memory due to age or curse. So long as they didn't call it 'Michael's Magical Memory Mixture' though, he could live with whatever the company was marketing it as though.

She nodded, and he shrugged, "What do you want to know?"

"I'd appreciate it if you'd go get your notes."

"Lisa, it's my bloody potion, I know everything off by heart."

"Still, I would be more comfortable with your notes in front of you," she said stubbornly.

Uncomplimentary thoughts about a woman he both considered a friend and was attracted to slid through Michael's mind, but he sighed and pulled his head out of the fireplace. She didn't quite believe that when it came to potions his mind was as capable as hers, and he didn't need _notes_ to discuss something he created. However there were battles to pick, and this wasn't one of them. He wasn't the sort to be contrary just to be contrary.

He kept the parchments with his potions notes on a warded cabinet in his main lab. Michael walked slowly there, his one defiance. If she was going to insist on it, she could wait with her head in the fireplace.

As he accio'd the parchment from the cabinet, his attention was distracted by an owl pecking on the window. He indulged his curiousity, scanning the contents quickly.

It was an invitation to interview for the position of potions master at Hogwarts.

Michael couldn't quite conceal his surprise. In some ways, it wasn't a shock they were replacing yet another professor. It wasn't quite the curse of the DADA prof during his own school years, but since Snape they had been having a steady procession of potions masters at Hogwarts. Not due to any allegiance with Voldemort, or some other criminal activity, but due to simple unsuitability for the job and for teaching from the sounds of things. It took a certain kind of person to put up with children, and to focus on teaching with your own interest in potions being secondary – especially in the isolated realm of Hogwarts that was sadly dull these days.

It would have been flattering to be approached without application, but after so many attempts they probably were scraping the bottle of the barrel. Still, he couldn't stop grinning as he left his office, feeling bad for keeping Lisa waiting so long. The job would be everything this job was not, and while it lacked intrigue, it had its appeal.

"Guess who I just got an owl from," Michael said as he shoved his head back into the fireplace.

Lisa didn't betray any annoyance at being kept waiting, because that would be actual emotion. She did only say though, "I flooed to talk about the potion Michael not..."

"McGonagall," he said determinedly, not letting her put him aside like she usually tried to. Most of the time he didn't know why he tried so hard with her still, but he couldn't stop himself, "can't quite believe that woman is still around, but then again Dumbledore was older than dirt, wasn't he?"

"Oh, the potions position," Lisa said in a dismissive tone, "I turned that down last time. I can't quite believe the struggles they are having there."

It was amazing the knack she had for taking the pleasure out of any given situation. He wondered if it was just him she reserved the pleasure for, or if it really was with everybody. Michael all of a sudden felt drained. Not enough to call her on it of course, but just enough. Sometimes he really thought he should have been sorted into Hufflepuff. Sometimes too he wished he could be drawn enough to somebody much simpler to form a lasting connection with.

"Yes, well, us commercial drones can't be picky about alternative options," he said lightly.

There was a look through the flames that he couldn't quite interpret, but when she didn't say anything he launched into determined chatter about the aforementioned potion awaiting patent.

 

*************************

 

"I can't believe I'm lowering myself to this," Pansy said, sipping from the goblet full of elderberry wine. She had gone all out. On a regular basis her robes at work look twice the value of his. On a night like tonight, they were probably thrice the value. If her upturned nose didn't send the message, her dress would send the message that she was superior to everybody in the room.

Michael was the only one she had deigned to talk to in any real fashion.

They had both been part of the invitees to interview for the position of potions master. It did sooth what ego he had looking around the room now to realize that the other witches and wizards were older. It wasn't just scraping the bottom of the barrel with much too recent graduates. Of course none of the biggest names in the potions world were there, but even for the most prestigious professorship position that was rare. They had all had sitdowns with the headmistress for first interviews earlier in the evening, and now those who hadn't turned down the position when they heard the horrible salary were having drinks in the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade rather than feeling uncomfortable at the castle.

"You couldn't stand not seeing me for so long while I went through the interview process?" Michael said with a grin.

She shot him a look of disdain. "Please. I can't believe that they are considering you for anything but caretaker."

It had taken a few years of working with Pansy, but he was fairly sure she was more upset than usual. It had nothing to do with her snark, that he was used to, but she kept fiddling with the sleeves of her robes and sending overly hostile looks to anybody passing by their table. It had been like that since her interview. He could only assume it hadn't gone well with the headmistress, though she hadn't been cut outright yet. He didn't ask though, they didn't have that sort of relationship. They didn't really have one of any kind outside of mutual tolerance really.

It had to take courage being back here though. The last time she'd been at Hogwarts, she'd suggested handing Potter over to Voldemort. While it wasn't stuff worthy of the _Daily Prophet_ , there were few who had been there who would ever forget. It wasn't something he had ever asked her about.

"One of these days I will find a woman to talk to whom doesn't disparage me with every word out of her mouth," he snorted, rather than pursuing anything more personal.

"Don't your precious Ravenclaws flatter your ego constantly? You wouldn't have lasted a month in Slytherin."

"Have you actually properly met any of the female Claws?" Michael asked, incredulous.

Pansy waved her hand dismissively, "No, nor do I have any desire to."

It amused him, as she completely let the topic slip. He wondered what she really thought their house had been like. There was pretentiousness to rival the Slytherins, except of a different sort. There were certainly as many rivalries, though maybe in more academic matters. Oddly enough, their 'blood' had almost been as pure at least in his year. Only one muggleborn for them, and not even a halfblood besides.

He saw Neville Longbottom come in, who he shot a friendly wave. He was accompanied by the Puff who ran the Leaky. Apparently the herbology department wasn't enough to keep him in tonight. Michael hadn't had a chance to talk to the other man before the interview, though he had sent an owl around. They weren't best mates, but like every former member of the DA that last year they kept in touch. It was hard not to respect Neville, and harder still not to like him. The other man smiled back in acknowledgement, but didn't head over right away, helping....Hannah, yes, that was her name, Hannah, out of her cloak and hanging it on a peg. Michael temporarily wondered if maybe it would make a difference if he did that for Lisa, the chivalrous touch, but he didn't think that was the issue of why she acted the ice queen around him.

"Michael," Neville said with a smile as they approached. His hands were nowhere near Hannah, but there were something around their body positioning that screamed 'together'. His gaze cooled slightly when he saw Pansy, but seemed to brace himself before nodding at her.

It would have been too easy if she had said something nice in response. Instead, she sniffed and went to the bar to get another drink.

"It's not a date," Michael said with a sigh at their questioning looks, "we're both been at the school for first interviews for the position of potions master."

"We didn't ask," Neville said, flushing slightly.

No, but they had been wondering. At least they weren't the sort to have wands at her throat. Michael wanted to tell them that Pansy had nothing on Lisa's icy reserve, or Padma's cutting remarks when she got in a mood, but he supposed at least they didn't have the background of going against the hero of the wizarding world to make people assume things. He supposed it was why people took Pansy's attitude all the worse. "I like my bollocks intact," was all he said mildly.

It was Hannah who smiled, "She does seem the type to eviscerate them."

He wondered if it was truly the case - if Pansy was quite as sharp as she put on, or if some of it was a defense mechanism. He supposed, with the way things were for them, in the end it didn't matter much to him.

"I hope you get hired on," Neville said, "it's been a rotating position the last few years. It would be good to have a friendly face around the castle." Like most of them were anything but. Neville was one of the darlings of the wizarding world, even if he didn't quite seem to believe it most of the time.

"I'm hoping so," Michael said, "so I can stop selling my soul just for corporate funding to develop potions. And," he added hastily, "for the opportunity to mould young minds and all that."

"Of course," Hannah said, her eyes twinkling.

They both excused themselves, seeking out a cozy booth in the back. It was only at that point that Pansy deigned to make her way back over to the table.

"It wouldn't kill you to be nice," Michael said mildly.

"But I wouldn't enjoy it in the slightest," she replied, taking a slow sip of her wine.

 

*************************

 

The second interview had gone smoothly enough. In essence, Michael wasn't quite sure though. He wasn't a people reader, and the former Gryffindor head of house had an excellent poker face in these situations. There was a difference between not fucking it up entirely, and distinguishing one's self from the crowd. Instead of finding the guest room in the teacher's quarters that had been allotted for him once the meeting was done though, he found himself wandering the school, reminiscing. Without a password, there was no entering the Ravenclaw common room, though he probably could have deciphered the riddle of the day – but the children might not appreciate it.

Merlin, he was already talking like he was eons older than them, and he hadn't even been hired on.

The rest of the castle held just as many memories however, even if it wasn't quite the same building. He hadn't been one of the ones to help with the restoration from the destruction at the Battle of Hogwarts, so he hadn't been aware of all the changes. It was still the same building underneath, but the finish had changed, the details. One wouldn't have even been able to tell there had been fighting here, except for the memorial plaques that hung on the walls. They had done a good job.

 _There_ was where Alecto Carrow had cornered him once, pushing him up against the wall.

 _There_ was where he had hid with Terry and Anthony one night in fourth year, devising charms to scare the bloody hell out of the first years by animating the statues.

 _There_ was where he had got into a hexing match with one of the older Slytherins that last year when they were terrorizing a halfblood Claw. The detention, if one could even call it something that mild, had been worth it.

 _There_ was where he had practised his spells from that first year in the DA, when the common room was becoming a little too much.

Every room had a memory, and the sad thing was, so many of them had already faded. He wondered how long it would be until they all did. Still, the most important things couldn't, he was sure. It was disconcerting though how much about his school years had already blended from specific moments into general history. At the time, they had seemed all consumingly important.

When a laughing group of Hufflepuffs came around the corner in the corridor he was walking in, he gave them an awkward nod before turning back to retrace his steps, feeling all too old.

Passing by the head office, it was to run into Pansy coming out.

He didn't bother asking how it had gone. The confrontational look on her face told the story.

"Even if I don't get the job," he said, "it's been good to be back."

"Why?" She asked sharply.

"Well, memories and what not I suppose."

She gave a laugh devoid of humour, "Who would want to remember anything about this place?"

Michael almost asked her to explain. He almost asked her what was wrong, the past and the present combined; he almost opened himself up to her tearing him to shreds for trying to care.

 _Almost_.

"Anybody with a soul," was all he said instead, earning himself a disgusted look.

"I want a drink," Pansy said abruptly. "Feel free to come along. If you can manage not to say something sentimental and cloying for more than a few seconds that is." From that, he took it to mean that his presence was more directly required. Ah well, considering sticking around the castle would do him no good except in worrying about the interview, it would be a welcome respite. Though, looking like an alcoholic who couldn't stay dedicated to the school wouldn't help anybody.

They detoured through the potions area on their way to grab their cloaks. He wasn't quite sure who instigated it, himself or Pansy. Maybe both of them wanted a look at what might never be theirs. Late evening now, the area was empty, no students passing through.

"I actually want this job," he said, looking at the empty rows, "not just to escape the potions company but...I want this job. Maybe as much as I wanted the consultant job for the Ministry."

It was different, to be sure, than the one Lisa had been given – but maybe more important. It wasn't something he had ever seriously though of until the owl though, because he never thought he'd have a chance at it. Too young, less practical experience than most, there was a variety of reasons. He was glad the owl had prompted him to try for it. There was also that lingering perception though as well that potions were synonymous with Professor Snape, and that legacy was a hard thing to reconcile one's self with.

Pansy didn't mock his statement. It was the closest she would probably come to admitting that she wanted the job too.

"We should....." he began, but was cut off by a sound in the adjacent lab.

Curious, he made his way over to the door, Pansy following behind. Inside he could see somebody flitting around between the stocks. It took him a second to place Norman Burnaby, the interim instructor. He had been at the school for months, but nobody had considered him a permanent option as a replacement from what Michael had heard. He wasn't even undergoing the interviews with the rest of them. Apparently it had been a source of extreme bitterness on his part. Michael actually had respect for McGonagall taking that stand. It would have been easiest with him already in with the students, and the man had credentials.

He wondered what was holding Norman back.

Michael felt a little guilty for spying. Still, before he could back away, his attention was caught. Norman was moving around frantically. Initially he'd thought the man had just been working on independent potions work outside the classroom setting, working under a timeline on the potion, but there was....something...he wasn't sure....

The cauldron. That was it.

In the dim lighting it had looked the normal black vessel, though who knew thick the bottom was, but as Michael's eyes adjusted he could see there was more to it. There were runes on the cauldron, covering about the surface. Michael recognized the shapes, but not the meanings. It was not his forte, not at all. It was curious, because he had never heard of anything regarding the combination of the two magical methods, and he considered himself both experienced and well read.

At Pansy's intake of breath beside him, Michael realized Norman's features had started to distort and shift. A swig from a vial he had in his pocket stabilized them again.

He was fairly sure they both recognized what it was at the same time. Polyjuice.

There was something going on that neither of them had any really understanding of. Obviously though, it wasn't entirely innocent. He and Pansy both stayed silent as they watched Norman continue to brew, as well as gathering vials intermittently from the shelves around him, shoving them in his pocket. The smell of the brew was unrecognizable, and Michael couldn't get a look at the colour and consistency. It made him uncomfortable not to know what he was dealing with. There was maybe a hint of petrol, which often came from bubotuber pus, but it was masked with a more cloying scent which was of too great a variety for him to identify the exact ingredients.

Michael almost made a noise of surprise when after a few minutes Norman levitated the cauldron up from the flame, beginning to move towards the doorway where they stood.

He was the one who pushed Pansy back against the wall, but she was the one who cast a disillusionment charm on them both, and it felt like somebody had broken a cracked egg on his head – but Michael determinedly didn't move.

They weren't noticed as Norman left, but he probably wasn't expecting to see anybody invading his domain.

Most of Michael's thoughts were swirling, and focused on what they were witnessing, but with Pansy's body pressed up against his he couldn't help but think about that. Not because it wasdgoing anything for him, but because it wasn't. It would simplify his life if he was even getting a reaction to this prickly woman, but outside of the basest physical reaction, he didn't feel anything with her body pressed right against his no matter how heavily her breasts heaved. Instead his attraction seemed to continue to be limited to a woman who wouldn't even have the decency to snark with hm.

"I know you're a scourge among women Michael, but really," Pansy said harshly, keeping her voice as low as she could as she shoved him away once Norman had left the room, protesting his contact.

"It could have been Neville," he pointed out reasonably, knowing that would annoy her more than any truly deplorable option.

However Pansy's attention was even too distracted to come up with a proper retort. They were both following slowly to see what Norman was up to. They had both certainly got the impression that asking him wasn't going to solve anything, and possibly leave them further from the truth. Polyjuice combined with a rune covered cauldron neither of had ever heard of could not spell anything good, especially done this way at this time of night.

It was surprisingly Pansy who took the lead, but Michael didn't argue. He wished desperately for an invisibility cloak, but Norman seemed unaware as to their presence as he made his way through the darkened hall, his cauldron levitated in front of him. It was a very surreal moment.

It was a miracle they didn't come across any students, but maybe they were better behaved than they had been in Michael's day. Or at least more obedient.

Michael was surprised to see Norman come to a stop in front of the old entrance to the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor. He could see that Pansy had no idea as to the significance of the stretch of wall, but he would always remember it – they had used it so many times during seventh year. Even now with Barnabus the Barmy gone from the wall across he couldn't mistake the location. He did wonder though, how they'd kept current students from using it. Even if the younger ones hadn't been around the same time as him, people talked, older siblings talked. There was no way around it.

They watched as Norman passed back and forth three times before the entrance opened.

Michael darted through to follow him in, because he'd had enough experience to know how it would go if he didn't go in right away. Pansy had hesitated momentarily, but followed him. She'd done the disillusionment charm thing again, quite successfully he assumed, as there were no abrupt shouts of discovery.

The room was bare save them and the interim potions professor, which was surprising. They both watched as Norman cast spells to get a flame going, starting the process of brewing once again. This time though he was chanting under his voice as he put ingredients into the cauldron. Grinding here, stirring here, switching back and forth – all intermittent with inscribing another rune into the cauldron itself. Michael still couldn't make sense of the symbols, but tried to memorize them for future analysis.

It seemed an eternity as the other man brewed, but nothing seemed to happen until the entirety of the cauldron surface was covered in symbols.

At which point there seemed to be an eruption from the potion itself, flames and fluid shooting near towards the ceiling.

Michael couldn't help it, he was the one who made a noise at the shock, feeling the elbow of Pansy to his gut. It was therefore his fault entirely when Norman spun towards them, his attention caught even over the disturbance of the potion. The disillusionment charm at that point wasn't enough.

It was his fault then too when neither of them had a chance to defend themselves before Norman was throwing something out of his pocket at them, blinding Michael before effectively knocking him out.

 

*************************

 

Lisa tried to keep herself walking calmly once she'd let been into the Hogwarts grounds. Her inclination was to hurry, but she tried to tell herself that this was no different than any other case she had been called in on. Everybody was alive, that's what the aurors had mentioned when they'd flooed her at the Ministry, and it wouldn't do to seem overeager and gauche in the face of pressure. It wouldn't help her reputation at the department, and it wouldn't help Michael's perception of her either – at least the perception she wanted him to have.

Still, she wanted to get inside the castle as soon as possible.

She gave minimal acknowledgement to faculty as she passed, only a few of them up and about at this hour regardless. She disliked returning to Hogwarts at the best of times, and now she only wanted to get to the headmistress' office.

When she got there, the calmness of the castle was left behind for complete and utter chaos.

There was a veritable crowd of people in Minerva's office it seemed. Her eyes immediately sought out Michael much to her chagrin, but considering the fact he was sitting up and arguing, the churning in her stomach settled to a certain extent. There were bruises and scratches all over him, and there was bleeding coming from his left side which he was pressing a cloth to, and some ineffectual mediwitch was trying to deal with, though he kept pushing her aside.

Pansy Parkinson was there was well, in a much similar condition – and Lisa's eyes narrowed at her. There were a few professors too, only two that she recognized, with one of them being Neville Longbottom from her year. It was the headmistress who was running the show from behind her desk, but Harry Potter stood stoic at her shoulder, his auror robes very familiar to her. Lisa sighed internally. He was one of her least favourite to work with, though at least he was very competent. It was gratifying to see him eye her gratefully though when she came in, calm in the storm of the office.

Her eyes drifted back to Michael once more, reassuring herself again that he was fine. Then, she cleared her throat.

"Miss Turpin," McGonagall said, surprised.

"The potions consultant I told you about," Harry said quietly, as the rest of them settled down slightly. Earning a quiet, "Ah," in response.

"I was given minimal details before coming in," she said by way of explanation, making her way over to the crowd around the desk.

"We are fully capable of looking into this ourselves," Michael had barely acknowledged her, which had an odd sting to it, " _we_ are the ones who saw the cauldron, we are the ones who smelled the potion, we...."

"It's policy Michael," Harry was saying apologetically.

"Well bollocks to that," he said crossly, earning him a sharp look that would have cowed them all five years ago from the headmistress.

Lisa was rather surprised. She wasn't used to animosity from Michael. She wasn't used to animosity in general either. Her role was such a peripheral one, and usually after the fact, that she usually faced little opposition. This wasn't like when the aurors took over from hit wizards, and animosity abounded. She wasn't quite sure what the objection to her presence was. Part of the problem was that she still really had no idea what was going on. All she knew basically was that there had been an explosion at Hogwarts, and a potion had been involved. She only knew about Michael because she had known to press and ask.

"I think you need to realize the objection isn't to your skills with potions Michael and the ability to aid in the investigation," Pansy said in a bored tone, examining her fingernails even as she sat there in torn clothes with a bruised face, "it's to me."

It brought all the attention to her.

"There is no doubt of your qualifications Miss Parkinson," McGonagall began carefully, "but...."

"My character on the other hand?" Pansy said with raised eyebrows, though her voice was cool despite the subject.

Harry was less diplomatic. "I'm glad you weren't hurt," though his tone suggested he wasn't sure of that, "but you may feel free to bugg...to go home. We will contact you if you need any more information."

Pansy looked at him steadily, "Glad to see we've got past childish pettiness Potter."

"Pettiness? You call not trusting somebody who...." Harry broke off, biting his tongue. He was rash, she'd learned that in the past, but he did have some sort of filter. "We can handle this Pansy. Go home."

It was interesting to listen to the byplay, and everything that was being said, and everything that wasn't. Years later, and they were still stuck at Hogwarts, still stuck in the past. Lisa liked to rein judgement on Harry and some of the other aurors emotional responses – but she couldn't blame him here, not entirely. She hadn't even been there for the Battle of Hogwarts and she couldn't make herself respect Pansy. She couldn't respect anybody who had been allied with Voldemort in any way shape or form.

"We will contact you with the news about the job," McGonagall was still saying things so carefully, but they all heard the judgement there. They also knew there would be no positive news about the potions master position. Lisa wondered how she had got an interview offer in the first place.

"Right," Pansy said, getting to her feet regally, despite her outward appearance. "Merlin, I don't think I could have stood being around such self righteous Gryffindors every day anyway."

A movement from Neville Longbottom caught Lisa's eye. He seemed to be looking at Pansy in assessment, and was going to say something, but Michael beat him to the punch.

"No," he said abruptly, "Pansy is just as qualified as I am, and we all bloody well know it. We know that between the two of us, we have the best shot as to figuring out what's going on with that potion. I'm not letting myself or _anybody_ get the job over her just because she is a bit of a bitch with an unfortunate history, and I'm not letting you kick her out here just because you don't like her. Slytherin doesn't equal evil, and we can't live with those prejudices anymore."

They all looked at him in shock, Pansy most of all.

Lisa felt a pang in her chest for a moment that she didn't want to acknowledge. Michael had been one of the constants through everything. She didn't want him, didn't want that complication, but she was used to him – and used to knowing that he carried a bit of a thing for her no matter how she acted, or how much she kept him at bay. To see him standing up for any other woman, and Pansy Parkinson of all people, burned in a way she didn't want to admit to. He wouldn't do that if there wasn't something there.

She did what she did though now with everything that poked and prodded at her emotional side though. She pushed it aside, concentrating on the moment.

"Mr. Corner...."

"I know, I know," he said wearily at the headmistress' address, "I just screwed up any chance of working for you. But we're not telling Lisa a single thing about what we observed unless we're both kept in on this. _Both_ of us. If you're going to entrust somebody enough to mould the future generations, they need to be trustworthy enough to consult with the aurors on this. If you don't, there were no points to these interviews anyway."

For a second McGonagall pressed to fingers to her forehead, looking all of her years.

It was Harry who answered, because after all once he'd been called in it was his investigation, "Fine." Apparently he had matured a lot in the last few years.

"Glad you have a backbone to be proud of Potter," Pansy said, and Michael put his head back in frustration.

Harry clenched his hands, but didn't respond to her. He talked to the headmistress instead.

"It's dark magic, but it doesn't seem dangerous yet," he said quietly, "and they need to be here at the school to look into things. Put it out you're having trial teaching periods, with these two first. Keep Lisa on under a similar pretense – most will believe you had other applicants. I'm going to do a search of the castle tonight and start interviewing people here at Hogwarts, and I'll send aurors and hit wizards by on a regular basis undercover. We'll get this solved no matter what."

They were all going to one big happy potions family under the Hogwarts roof it seemed. Lisa's lips thinned.

"Somebody needs to tell me everything that's happened," she interjected.

 

*************************

 

"Lesson plans in addition to nightly research," Michael yawned as he griped. "I'm going to start falling asleep while terrorizing the third years."

"You could go home at any time," Lisa said coolly, not even looking over at him, making notes from a textbook they'd found at the back of the library on dark potions. "You're here at your own insistence."

He wanted to ask what had crawled up her arse and died, but it was Lisa, so he held off. She hadn't just been icy since she had arrived, she had been a downright bitch. It wasn't just Pansy he didn't think; he had done something to draw her ire as well.

Pansy ignored them both.

It was tiring though. As Lisa wasn't a real candidate for the position here at Hogwarts anyway, she was handling all the first year classes, but nothing else. He and Pansy were spitting the rest – him handling all the Slytherins and Gryffindors, her handling the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. He liked it a surprising amount, even if McGonagall kept checking in every hour. However he was tired constantly, not getting a lot of sleep. Most of their investigative efforts were limited to the night time hours once curfew hit for the students.

Most of the castle was unaware what was going on. The aurors and McGonagall had insisted on that. They didn't even know what was going on; they certainly didn't know who might be involved. Outside of Madam Pince, Neville and Professor Binns were the only other two.

"I finished the list," Michael said, returning to business. He pushed the parchment out for the other two to see. Pansy had waved off trying to do anything with the runes, though he didn't quite believe she hadn't seen _any_ of them, but he had a mind like a steel trap for detail anyway. "Anybody recognize any of them?"

Of course none of them had taken runes at the NEWT level.

"No," Lisa said, though it pained her to admit it, "but I can go get a textbook and...."

"Or we could call in our very own runes expert," Michael snorted, "which will be much more fast and efficient."

Lisa closed her eyes, "This is a low key operation so we don't invoke suspicion from...."

"We have magic," Michael snorted, "and the ability to leave school grounds. I think we can manage to talk with Terry."

"Lovely," Pansy said drily. "More of your kind. It has been such a pleasure thus far."

"I think he's the best option for keeping this confidential to people we trust, unless any of you Slytherins managed a NEWT in the subject?" Michael asked open endedly, knowing full well none of them had.

She didn't respond, but went back to her own pieces of parchment.

Lisa sighed, "Merlin, this is turning into a disaster. I'll consult with Harry and then owl him."

Michael supposed that was the best he could hope for. He felt at loss with Lisa right now more than he did with thinking about whatever the hell was going on at Hogwarts. He usually did, but this was taking it to the extreme. It didn't help that none of them were in their element here, feeling it out as they went along, and trying to coexist with one another. Pansy had been treating him with hostility because he'd dared to stick up for her – continuing as the most contrary female he had ever met. Lisa barely spoke to Pansy, except when she had to, and when she addressed Michael it was with annoyance. His life was less simple than ever.

The bruises had healed with some basic charms, and the mediwitch who had taken over for Madam Pomfrey had healed up his left side with an hour in the infirmary. Even the most astute of students couldn't tell he had been injured.

They had some guesses at what the substance had been that had knocked him and Pansy out, letting Norman - or rather Norman's impersonater - escape. There were multiple potions that with a charm would produce that sort of effect. Once he finished analyzing what the mediwitch had isolated on their bodies he'd be able to tell exactly – his midnight brewing experiment, determining potion ingredients with the counters. That substance didn't really matter all that much though.

It was that one in the rune covered cauldron that did.

Michael still had no idea what it was though. None of them did. He didn't know either why Norman had felt the need to brew it in the Room of Requirement when he'd had the lab to work in. Textbooks were revealing nothing, and neither was any of their background experience.

"Describe the smell again."

"Definite bubotuber pus," Michael said, though it had been the twentieth time he was asked. "There was a definitive underlying smell of petrol."

"I doubt he was brewing up a batch of acne control potion."

"However the odour was there all the same," he said evenly, not allowing himself to get annoyed with the vague insult in her tone.

"Bubotuber pus, black beetle parts, salamander blood, and an overwhelming amount of mandrake and pomegranate juice," Pansy said as if bored, not looking up from her papers.

When they both stared at her surprise, she gave a little shrug. "What, I have a greater sensitivity than your plebeian noses." It would have helped if she had mentioned that part a little sooner, but it was true nobody had asked her directly.

Michael had to admit he was impressed, as he hadn't managed that sort of detail.

Lisa stared at Pansy inscrutably, and then said, "I suppose I can see what part of the appeal is."

Maybe he was being deliberately obtuse but he had no idea what she was talking about. Pansy for her part didn't seem quite as confused. A mocking smile swept across her face, "So it's like that, is it then?"

"I don't know what you mean," Lisa said frostily.

"Of course you don't," Pansy mocked, turning back to her work.

Michael decided that he would never be able to understand the ways of women, and simply ignored whatever was going on there and turned back to his books. He wasn't quite sure why though – it wasn't like he didn't know the properties of those ingredients off by heart. It didn't leave him any closer however to figuring out what the combination was for. Brewing with them too would be useless without knowing the steps.

"Bugger," he murmured, shoving the chair back, "I'm going to bed. I'm getting useless."

"Time for me to head off too then," Pansy said, gathering up her stack with a wave of her wand. It wasn't said suggestively, but with a pointed look at Lisa it gave a wealth of meaning.

In the end, he didn't say anything. He looked at Pansy curiously as she got up from her chair, and nodded a good night to Lisa. He shrunk down his own reading material, shoving it into the satchel he had brought along. They left Lisa sitting behind, watching them with an unreadable expression as they walked off.

Pansy walked quickly on ahead of him before he could ask what the bloody hell was going on.

 

*************************

 

"That's Dagaz," Terry said, pointing to the fourth rune on the list Michael had been able to recall, "it means breakthrough....dawn. It essentially means 'day', and is strongly associated with life. It's the ruin of transformation."

The four of them had gathered in the Hog's Head pub, where they were most unlikely to run into a batch of students or well, anybody really. It wasn't exactly a popular hangout even now, and would never hold a candle to the Three Broomsticks. Aberforth Dumbledore was content with what it was, and for that Michael was grateful – it gave them a place to meet in relative secrecy rather than a much more complicated solution. They all had ordered a pint as a matter of course, but the drinks sat untouched on the table around them. A dicto-quill hovered behind Lisa's left shoulder, taking note of everything that Terry said for future reference.

Michael pointed to the one that had come up the most frequently, "How about that one?"

Terry examined it, "Berkanon, the rune of growth and fertility. Growth, new life, rebirth – and all that."

"All that?" Pansy asked sharply, not satisfied with his dismissal.

He shot her a look, "Exactly that. Every synonym your mind can imagine."

Terry was better than a textbook. He knew every runic meaning off by heart, how they interacted, and how they were used. After a quick crash course, he had started to go down the list of the ones Michael could remember. The only downside was that he had never heard of runes being used in conjunction with the brewing of a potion. Just like none of them had – unfortunately. The best they could all do was the wildly speculative theoretical, and that was something Lisa couldn't be satisfied with.

Lisa looked down the rest of the list: Jera, the rune of success; Hagalaz, the rune of disruption; Sowilo, the rune of energy.

"How about these last two?" She asked, motioning towards the only ones unidentified as of yet.

"I don't know," Terry looked uncomfortable with the admission, not liking to cop to a lack of knowledge. They all leaned over the symbols, studying them a little bit closer, as if that would somehow impart some random new knowledge. "It's not part of any runic alphabet that I'm aware of."

The Hog's Head was completely silent around them that time of day, while they stared at the two last runes. Lisa felt her head begin to pound. This was far from the sort of thing that she normally dealt with, and while a change of pace was nice, she preferred challenges that she could solve, and solve on her own.

It was Pansy who spoke in a very quiet voice.

"That one is Kriznaz," she said, "the rune of obedience. The last one is Finch, the rune of death."

Three pair of surprised eyes slid her way.

"They're dark magic," Pansy added, as if the meanings could leave any doubt.

Lisa wanted to hex the woman. There were so many things for provocation she could call on. For two days now, she had seen the list Michael had made, and hadn't said a word. There were the petty reasons too, like the fact she managed to yet again know things that Lisa didn't, and the fact she'd pretty much openly suggested she was shagging Michael. Not that Lisa was going to let herself care about that, not really.

"You're just mentioning this _now_?" She said.

"I was hoping the all knowing expert would be able to tell you," Pansy said, but some of the normal bite was out of her tone, "so I wouldn't have to have the lovely interrogation as to why I know something like that. Perpetuating the myth that I'm evil incarnate is rather tiresome most of the time, if you want the truth." She was trying for flippant, but not quite pulling it off.

"How do you know?" Michael asked, but his voice was much gentler.

Pansy hesitated, but lifted her head, looking at them all defiantly – as if daring them to judge her for anything. "The Dark Mark," she said, "I was there, when they cast it on my father. The final part of the spell, to give more power to the link, was inscribing the Kriznaz rune on the forehead of the skull during the incantation. My father was quite happy to explain – he was so proud of the bloody thing." There was a heavy bitterness in her tone.

"The other," she hesitated only slightly, "I found myself, looking through the books in our library after that day. _Dark Magicks_ , stereotypical nonsensical title. I have a whole other list of magical runes that aren't based on harvests and moon cycles, and whatever other nonsense that come with the light. Not that they're applicable here. You'll be gratified to know that we don't have those books anymore, my family. Not since the aurors sacked our house properly, and we were left with nothing."

Her hand seemed to be twitching on the table, and all of a sudden she made a tight first before shoving her chair back quickly and getting to her feet. "I need another fucking drink." She was ignoring the completely full pint on the table in front of her.

"That rune, Finch I mean," Michael said, "it was a different colour on the cauldron. Black where the others were red."

"He would have been casting the converse meaning then," Terry said, but his tone was distracted as he too got to his feet.

Life then, Lisa assumed, rather than death - still linked to the dark though, an extra force not given in the standard runes of life and rebirth. Still, what did it have to do with the potion, what did it have to do with anything. They had so much more information, but yet were somehow still so far from the truth of whatever was going on.

Her attention was distracted by the sight of Terry approaching Pansy at the bar. She violently shrugged off the comforting hand that he put on her shoulder, but he didn't leave. He was talking quickly, likely words of comfort, not that Lisa was sure that Pansy deserved them. Still, no matter what feelings she was blinded by, it was obvious there was more to the woman that she initially assumed – she wasn't just the stereotypical Death Eater, if she ever had been one at all. Still, Lisa wasn't going to be the one going over there, she didn't have that much forgiveness in her. Sometimes she wondered if she was capable of the tender emotions at all really.

Terry's hand had made its way to Pansy's shoulder again, and this time it wasn't shrugged off. He always did have a way with women.

"He's moving in on your girlfriend." Lisa said, more sharply than she meant to, to Michael who still sat beside her.

It made her think for a moment too, of Padma. One of these times for Terry, there would be a woman who would stick. At some point, it would be too late for them to get past...whatever they had going there.

Michael let out a burst of laughter, "My girlfriend? I finally get the comments from yesterday."

"Well, you should be the one offering a shoulder," she said, lowering her gaze to the parchments in front of them.

"Relationship advice?" Michael seemed amused.

Lisa wanted to hex him, though she refused to show it.

Michael didn't say anything, and she didn't look at him – didn't want to. Unfortunately there was only so long that she could preoccupy herself with looking over the runes again without seeming ridiculous. When she raised her gaze, he was looking at her assessingly; it made her feel uncomfortable, and made her want to lash out. Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately he was the one who spoke first, not giving her a chance to make herself ridiculous.

"Pansy and I aren't involved," he said, his tone completely serious, "we're coworkers and...I don't know, as friendly as somebody can get with somebody as prickly as her. That's it though – not whatever you're imagining."

She ignored the fact that his response brought a sense of relief. "I didn't ask," she said archly.

"But you care."

"Only in so much as I hate to see a former housemate involved in a destructive relationship."

"No," Michael said, "you _care_."

He was leaning towards her now, not letting her pull away. At least not physically. Lisa could retreat though emotionally, which was something she did best, and she was feeling threatened enough to do it yet again. "I have never given you any indication to believe anything but casual concern," she said frostily.

"No," he said quietly, "and that's the damndest thing. You barely give a hint you can tolerate me these days, yet I'm pretty fucking sure there's something there."

He really wasn't supposed to be perceptive in the slightest. Then again he was a Ravenclaw bloke, perhaps she should have expected a little bit more. Lisa felt both guilt and panic at his words, but was determined not to show any of it. Michael didn't look like he was going to back away however, or be put off by whatever she was going to say. That shifted the reaction to blind panic, and she stared at him with her mouth pinched, for once feeling completely at a loss – not a feeling she relished.

It was perhaps rather fortunate that they were interrupted by Terry and Pansy coming back to the table.

"Done planning the fastest route to get me to Azkaban?" The woman asked snidely, sitting back down.

It was Michael who tore his attention away first. "Shockingly enough, not every conversation I have revolves around you."

Lisa found herself the one left behind, looking at the spot where he had been gazing at her just moments before. She consoled herself in turning her churning emotions on Pansy. "If you're done indulging your persecution complex, we have work to do."

 

*************************

 

When they finally left the pub, it was late afternoon. Terry had taken a room for the night in the town, and the three of them were walking back to the castle. It not being a Hogsmeade weekend, there were no students or others making the trek.

Michael wasn't exactly stealth in his glances over at Lisa. She had determinedly put Pansy between them as they walked, like he would actually try to accomplish a personal conversation with the viper tongued Slytherin around regardless.

"I think they're trying to bring back the Dark Lord," Pansy said.

That certainly drew his attention away from his personal woes. "What?" He asked sharply.

"Think about it," she said, the snow crunching under their feet as they walked, "all the runes. Birth, life, rebirth and growth, energy – all associated with dark magic. And the potion...mandrake is the essential ingredient in bringing back people who are petrified, salamander parts are used for strengthening, so is pomegranate juice."

"Why do you think that it means it has anything to do with he who....Voldemort?" It was Lisa who asked this time. She couldn't say the name with the same defiance he did, even now. Not after being almost destroyed by it.

"Nothing points that way." He chimed in himself.

"For Ravenclaws you are bloody dense," Pansy said sharply.

"Explain it to the unenlightened then," he said, rolling his eyes.

Pansy paused, but said. "You didn't see them, what they were like – the Death Eaters. You didn't live with one day after day. Most of them would do anything for him, even now. "

"Like you would...." Lisa began.

"No," Michael said, cutting her off with a sharp look, "we're not going there." He might fancy Lisa, but that didn't mean he was blind to her faults. Her irrationality where Pansy was concerned was one of them. He wasn't vain enough to even consider that even most of it was due to him, even if maybe a very small part was. She was this way with everybody who even _might_ have been linked to Voldemort and the Death Eater cause. She didn't bother to look beyond the superficial. Pansy might be a bitch at times, but she wasn't evil.

"I don't need chivalry," Pansy snapped.

Merlin save him from contrary females. "I'm not playing auror in golden robes," he said tiredly, "just saving us from another snarky fight." He thought they were both going to hex him with the way they looked at him.

"If some people could stop making this personal," Pansy said, "we could discuss this rationally."

For a second he thought Lisa was going to argue, just for the sake of arguing, but she sighed and pressed her lips together tightly – not saying anything. He could see what Pansy's point was, but at the same time he wasn't sure if that was enough to make that leap in judgement. Outside of the fact that Voldemort had been the driving force behind so much of the evil that had happened in their lifetime, that didn't mean anything here. There was no logical link to suggest it. He had been defeated, and the horcruxes had been destroyed. Not that he knew the whole story, he hadn't been one of that golden Gryffindor trio, but he knew enough.

The horcruxes.....

"Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem," he said slowly, "one of the horcruxes. It was destroyed in Room of Requirement. By fiendfyre."

"Your point being?" Lisa asked.

Pansy had clued in to what he meant. "That was why whoever was impersonating the professor couldn't just brew his potion in the lab. If that sort of link was needed....there had to be a reason he was willing to levitate his cauldron through a castle where he had the potential to run into _anybody_."

Michael simply nodded, trying to think it through further. It still wasn't proof enough to satisfy his Ravenclaw mind, but the circumstantial evidence such as it was made him want to lean that way.

"If they wanted to do it at the school," Lisa said, "and needed the site of a horcrux destruction, it would be the easiest one to use I suppose. Though I still think this is grasping."

"Why the school though? There were other horcruxes weren't there?"

It was a good question, and one Michael didn't have an easy answer for. He had guesses though; if it required a potion of complicated brew, it would have been a time consuming process. They would have been required to brew in close proximity, because it wasn't as if that cauldron could be apparated with. It was all supposition though – literally all of it.

"It feels right," Michael admitted, "but at the same time, there's no evidence of it. We're still just guessing. Merlin knows Voldemort deserves everything laid at his feet and more, but there's nothing really pointing to his resurrection even being a part of it except very biased gut feelings."

"If we were Gryffindors," Lisa said with a trace of a smile," that would be enough to have every former Death Eater arrested and killed on sight."

Pansy almost snickered, _almost_. Michael outright grinned though, and not just because Lisa had deigned to make a joke. It was the one thing the three of them could find camaraderie in – poking fun at former Gryffindors. It wasn't entirely off base though. There was an odd kinship between the stereotypical aspects of Ravenclaws and Slytherins that wasn't there between the other houses. One statement wasn't going to make the three of them friends, but it was something that wasn't fighting for once.

"I wish we could duplicate the potion," Michael mused.

"I wish we could have captured that git who was at Hogwarts and tortured him for information," Pansy retorted.

"Blood thirsty wench."

"Practical," she countered.

They both grinned at each other, but it was more the challenging baring of teeth than any real humour.

"If you could stop with your verbal foreplay," Lisa said with frost in her voice, "we have more important things to get on with."

This time Pansy did let out a full throated laugh. "You've really got her knickers in a twist, don't you? I just don't see it," She said to Michael, with raised eyebrows, before turning back to Lisa, "listen Turpin, it's tempting to play along and stoke the fires of your jealousy a little further, but that would mean I have to actually pretend real interest in Michael here – and I'm not sure my stomach is up to the task for an extended period of time. I would say you should let him shag you already so you can stop with the snide comments, but I find I quite enjoy the verbal sparring. Not that you're capable of anything truly witty."

"I don't...." Lisa began, showing a crack in her facade, but Pansy cut her off.

"I don't really care one way or another," she said, walking on up ahead of them.

Michael felt drained. He didn't know what was going on with Lisa, and for once he didn't have the energy to either be cavalier about it, or to push her. He knew that was what it was going to take in the end for her to really talk to him, brute emotional force – he didn't think she was capable of it otherwise. It wasn't an easy thing to do though, and not something he really wanted to. It really might just be easier to fancy her from afar until she found some uptight Ministry bloke to marry she could have no emotional connection whatsoever with.

"We should get back," he said simply, walking on after Pansy.

Like he knew she would, Lisa didn't say anything, only walking alongside him.

Once back on the castle grounds, they walked together in silence. "Meeting in the library..." Lisa began, but whatever she had been about to say was cut off by Pansy motioning quickly for silence.

It was a badly done disillusionment charm - that must be it. For a moment Michael saw nothing there, but then there were flashes of cloaks moving, and of people. They were gathered near the steps that led up into the great hall, but off to the side. What couldn't be hidden though, at least not enough to make it completely invisible against the background in twilight, was the cauldron. Just like the last, there were runes inscribed, but only half the end amount. All of them could hear the murmuring of spells. He had no idea how they had got onto the grounds, but things were more relaxed now, and there were ways around the security of the school as had been made obvious even their time there – and not always used for good.

Michael might have been one of the rashest Ravenclaws, but he would have called for backup of some sort.

Pansy by contrast pulled out her wand with a quick, " _Homenum revelio_."

With that, there was no hiding the people gathered. When it had simply been parts of people not hiden by the spell, it had seemed like at least twenty. In reality, there were only four of them there. They were all masked in the cloaks common to the Death Eaters, with those bloody masks. It might just be for simple concealment of their identities, but Michael doubted it. They were here _as_ Death Eaters. Not only did he feel worry and a moment of _omgwhatdowedonow_ , he felt a surge of only slightly out of place anger. They were supposed to be past this now, this was supposed to be done, and this was supposed to be defeated. Hogwarts at least was supposed to be safe now – everything they had done was supposed to assure that fact since it hadn't been for them.

One of the Death Eaters slowly lifted up their mask. "Pansy?" He said, incredulously.

Pansy was frozen on the spot, not following through on her former impetuousness with the spell. He could tell that she recognized the man standing there, and it wasn't who she had expected to find. It wasn't her father though – it couldn't be. She might be tight lipped with her history, but he knew the man was in Azkaban, one of the few whose crimes had been serious enough for it.

"Mr. Crabbe," she said, the term of respect sounding odd on her lips.

"You need to help, or get from here girl," he said. His tones were far from the cultured ones Michael came to expect with the purebloods who seemed to comprise the Death Eaters. "If yer anything like yer father though, we could use you. You always had a knack with potions."

Michael had unconsciously stepped in front of Lisa, knowing that attention would be paid to them sooner rather than later. She didn't push him aside, but seemed to be fumbling in her robes for something.

Some of the colour was returning to Pansy's starkly pale face. "How can you be doing this?" She snapped. "Your son _died_. Wasn't that enough of a sign that you should give this ridiculous cause up? You brought Vince to his death as sure as anything." There was actual pain in her voice. "He was a boy stupidly looking for your approval."

It took him a second to identify 'Vince' as Vincent Crabbe. It shouldn't have though. Crabbe was one of the ones who had relished in giving 'detentions' the year of the Carrows at Hogwarts, and he was the one who had died in his own creation of fiendfyre. To Michael though, that horrible boy hadn't been a 'Vince'. He hadn't even been human in his mind. He hadn't pictured Slytherins as actually giving two knuts about each other either, especially the ones like Pansy and Draco – and maybe Blaise, who had always been on top. Apparently they had been just as much a family, and just as capable of being hurt.

"Don't be lecturing me on morality. Not one of your family."

"Right then," Pansy said, her nod stiff. "Right."

"So that's the way it is then? Yer father would be ashamed of ya turning blood traitor. Mudbloods and the like running the world now while the deserving toil. We've got a chance to change that, to bring _him_ back – just need to use the residual magic from three of those destroyed horcrux things."

It took that for Michael to recognize the site as an approximation of where Neville had sliced off the head of the snake.

"Like he was such a great solution the first time around," Pansy said snidely, "if you didn't have your fucking eyes opened, you...."

"Pansy," Lisa said quietly from behind them, "don't provoke them, I just have to...."

She wasn't given a chance to finish, nor was Pansy given a chance to argue with him. One of the others who hadn't removed their masks cast the first spell. It was an _avada_ , much to Michael's shock, as Lisa pulled him one way while Pansy dove to the other side. The light of the spell barely missed them.

He was up with his wand as quickly as he could be, but it wasn’t fast enough. It was to be expected though, he hadn't lived a life of duelling dark wizards – he dealt with potions. He hadn't had to be on his guard for years now.

It meant he was simply having to dodge another spell rather than cast one on his own.

For all he had leapt to Pansy's defence before, if he was honest he hadn't expected her to fight here. Not really, not when she had likely history with whomever were under the masks in front of them. Instead though, it was her who was able to actually use her wand while he ineffectually tried to avoid the spells of others.

He kept trying to glance back towards Lisa, to make sure she was okay, but there wasn't time. He could hear activity beginning in the castle, as people realized what was going on.

It was a fire spell that hit him in the end. Apparently not all the Death Eaters were going strictly for death. It hit his cloak, causing his clothes to burst into flames. He panicked, unable to help it. His thoughts were too scattered to cast a proper counter curse, and all he could do was drop to the ground, rolling around, trying to put the fire out.

He was barely conscious of aurors running in from the front gates, the anti apparition wards having kept them from coming directly in.

It hurt as much as the _cruciatus_ that he'd born before, more than any hex or hit from the Carrows. No matter what he did though physically, it wouldn't put out the magical flames. He was burning, and he was coughing, and he couldn't breathe, and it fucking _hurt_....

"Michael," Pansy's voice seemed to come from a distance, "hold bloody still would you." She didn't sound calm though, and Lisa's face floating beside hers looked distinctly panicked. Michael didn't think he would ever see anything like that. It was almost calming to hearing her entreaties, demanding that he get through the spell.

As Pansy murmured the charms, the burn of the flames turned into gentle licks, decreasing his pain – though it took a thousand more _aguamenti_ 's it seemed before the fire was put out after that part.

Between the smoke though, and the pain, he was barely aware of what was going on.

"Knew you cared," he murmured, before passing out in completely embarrassing fashion.

 

*************************

 

When Michael awoke, it was to the sterile walls of St. Mungo's.

"They were going to try and keep you at the castle," came a tired voice from beside him, "but I wouldn't let them. No disrespect to Madame Bangle, but I think nearly bursting into flames requires an actually qualified healer rather than a mediwitch."

He recognized the voice as much as the intellectual snobbery. Lisa sat beside the bed in an old rickety chair, repaired a thousand times over by charms. Michael half expected to find his family running around, panicked, but the room was blessedly quiet. He closed his eyes for a moment, tired from the effort of being awake, grateful that they likely hadn't been notified yet. He wasn't sure he could take familial concern, though sometimes it could be comforting.

"What happened?" Michael asked. His voice was hoarse from smoke and disuse, but he could speak. Glancing down at his body, though his limbs were coated in thick orange burn-healing paste, the wounds were shrinking even as he looked at them – healthy skin left behind.

The wonders of magical medicine.

"You managed to get your useless arse hurt," Lisa said sharply, but there was relief on her face as she moved the chair closer to the bed.

"Pansy...."

"Saved you," she said, slightly begrudging. "I...I didn't know the charm." He was sure she would be reading up on magical healing techniques the first moment she had. "The aurors took care of the Death Eaters. I'd called them in. It's given to any Ministry employee who works in the field – a charmed amulet, just like those old DA coins."

"You're going to be fine," she added, giving the only part of his shoulder not covered in paste a quick pat before edging her chair back. Michael felt the loss.

His voice was growing stronger with each use. "What were they doing?" Vincent Crabbe's father had admitted to the basic elements of the plan, but it would have been too much to hope he had gone the time honoured route of villains and spelled it all out for them before he was caught or killed. Then again, if they had been captured the truth would come out one way or another anyway.

"Nearly exactly what we theorized," Lisa answered. She sounded more comfortable now, that they weren't talking about him, or Pansy saving him. "They were trying to bring Voldemort back. Destruction of the horcrux just destroys the physical manifestation. Powerful enough magic, if it has the essence of the person who created the horcrux, can bring back the soul – and they had a wand fragment of his to work with. Potion magic combined with charms and runes...." she gave a slightly sad look, "Snape really hadn't been lying when he had told us potions could put a stopper in death. One of seven would have been too weak, but three of seven...."

"....would have been enough." Michael finished. Lisa nodded.

They both contemplated that. Would there ever be a way for it to end entirely? It seemed like it now, but it had seemed like the last time as well.

"I'm impressed they were bright enough to figure it out," Michael finally said with a snort.

Lisa gave a ghost of a smile. "Not smart enough really. I don't think they knew how to unite the soul fragments themselves once captured. Still, one day there would have been somebody who could have."

A coughing fit overcame him, and it was enough to send Lisa pulling out her wand to summon the healing team. Soon enough there was a healer and a mediwitch crowding his bed, talking about how glad they were to see him awake, and check on his progress. All Michael really wanted was a bloody shower, but they told him the paste would have to stay for at least eight hours yet, as he'd had third degree burns over eighty percent of his body. One cough suppressing potion later, and he was left alone with Lisa yet again.

They didn't say anything, sitting there. Michael had a lot more questions, but they could wait until he was awake, and he could talk to Pansy, the headmistress, or Harry himself. Lisa looked distinctly uncomfortable, looking anywhere but at him, but she didn't leave.

"What happened?" Michael asked - the question was out before he could stop himself. He hadn't meant to bring it up now, him immobile in a hospital bed, but she looked like she might bolt any minute – and they didn't have anything forcing them to work together anymore. "With us I mean Lisa, not with the potion. Years now, you've been avoiding me, treating me like even less of an acquaintance than Terry or Anthony. Did I do something?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said quickly, looking away from him.

"Right," he snorted, "give me some credit. Listen Lisa, I just want to _know_ , if I need to apologize if nothing else."

"You didn't do anything," she said, sounding almost angry. An actual emotional response was something though.

"Are you admitting something changed then?" He challenged her. "Listen, I'm not trying to just get into your knickers here or anything, but we're....I'm not sure we're even friends anymore Lisa. That one night in the common room I thought we were going to be one hell of a lot more than that, and then that last year happened, and you were all of a sudden treating me like something from the bottom of your shoe. _What happened_?"

He was too tired of just letting it go.

"It's nothing Michael."

"It is if it means you can barely stand to be in the same room as me, even if you are apparently jealous of women I may or may not be shagging."

"It's nothing," she insisted again, not looking at him.

"That just means it's nothing you want to talk about," he countered, watching as she got to her feet, starting to collect her belongings, knowing he was pushing her, and knowing it could effectively end their tenuous friendship of a sorts rather than actually helping anything.

"It's nothing," she said, her voice like ice, but he could hear a tremor in it.

"Lisa..." Michael wasn't sure what else to say.

"I'm glad you're going to be fine," she said, pulling her cloak around her in a jerky emotion, using it like a shield, "I'm sure Pansy will be by to check on you later, and you can pry her with questions to your heart's content. Good luck with the job at Hogwarts. I'm sure we'll see each other at some Claw gathering soon."

He threw caution to the wind, "I still fancy you, you know, though Merlin knows why." Even if you act the uptight prig around me, he wanted to add.

Lisa paled slightly, "Nobody says 'fancy' anymore."

"Never the less," he said, not looking away from her.

For a second she looked like she was going to say something, but simply shook her head, ignoring his words and ignoring him. Lisa was out the door with a murmured goodbye, not looking at him directly, leaving Michael sitting there alone unable to go after her – not that he was sure he would anyway. If she wasn't going to talk about it, that was that, and there was nothing he could do to change it outside of torturing her for the truth. Tempting as it was too, that was a route he would never go down.

Once she'd left Michael's room, Lisa paused outside the door, leaning against the wall.

A few people wandered by, looking at her curiously – a few mediwitches, a healer, a man with an arm charmed like a tree trunk. They didn't stop to chat though, for which she was infinitely grateful. She didn't want company, but she wasn't up for the apparition home, not yet. She had never expected Michael to force the issue, and she'd never expected him to actually still...want her. She'd thought for him it was mostly a childhood thing easily left behind. Especially when she hadn't exactly been warm and welcoming.

Her attention was caught by two people standing at the mediwitches station.

Pansy and Terry were there, the former's arm in a sling. Terry had stopped by to see Michael, but hadn't stayed long, with the mediwitches only allowing one person in at a time. Lisa hadn't been able to make herself leave to give him the priority. Obviously he had found somebody else to transfer his concern onto. Pansy had been hit with a stray curse while dealing with the flames engulfing Michael, while the Death Eaters and the aurors duelled. Nothing serious, but enough that she had fainted by the time Lisa had come back for her after apparating Michael here. It had been tempting to leave her there, but....

But.

Lisa was willing to admit she might have misjudged Pansy. Maybe not entirely, she wouldn't believe that, but enough.

Now, she was actually smiling, without mockery – which Lisa hadn't seen on her face in their admittedly brief acquaintance. She wasn't even shooting Terry one of her patented glares while he nattered on incessantly beside her while she filled out the discharge forms on the parchment in front of her. She didn't even hex him when his hand rested lightly on her hip.

They probably didn't even know themselves what it was yet, but there was something there.

"Bloody perfect," Lisa murmured, her voice breaking, before turning to stride down the hall.

 

*************************

 

Lisa's flat was small and bare, but it was hers, and it was home. It was also incredibly wizarding, just like she wanted it to be. No signs of a television or telephone, it was easier just to be a witch. Still, as she waited for Padma's return owl, she almost wished for the ability to just punch in a few numbers and talk to the other woman – floo call was not the same. She had come here right after leaving the hospital, and hadn't left since, sending an owl round to the Ministry that she'd be in the next day for a debrief, not up to it right then. She would have stopped by Padma's, but the other woman lived with her parents. Lisa was fairly sure that the Patils wouldn't appreciate her stopping by with firewhiskey and her emotional needs.

For the first time in her life, Lisa had decided she needed to drink to excess.

The knock on the door surprised her. It was Padma, with her hair grungy and a mess, obviously not expecting to have been pulled out of her house. "I thought it was easier than owling back," she said, letting herself inside, "considering I think the last time I got an owl like this, you were having a breakdown, a few days after being back from being on the run." After a look from Lisa, she raised her eyebrows, "What? I figured it was just the two of us, I was allowed to pretend that night actually happened."

Instead of saying anything, Lisa poured her a glass, "Catch up."

Padma looked at the glass in amusement, with a healthy dose of firewhiskey and ice in it. "You know I don't drink." She set it on one of the side tables as she followed Lisa further into the flat.

"You know I don't usually either." Lisa said, settling down on the couch.

Padma poked around the flat like she usually did, while Lisa sat there in silence, slowly sipping at her own glass. In reality she knew she wasn't going to get outright pissed, but there was part of her that was tempted. It might make it easier to talk. Even with Padma, she didn't know how to say any of it though. They didn't _do_ this, the two of them, but she had nobody else to owl to come over. She had never really done 'girlfriends' in the most traditional sense. That left her with who – Terry? Anthony? She was glad for a moment when Padma found herself distracted by a book she found on the shelf, tossing it by her cloak to take home, a longstanding agreement between them.

"Terry is getting involved with Pansy Parkinson," Lisa picked the topic that was easiest for _her_ to bring up.

She watched as Padma's hand stilled on the books she was trailing her fingers over, tensing. It was only a momentary hesitation, but she didn't turn to face Lisa. "Good for them," she said in a clipped tone, "he's single and able to shag anything he wants to. Pansy Parkinson certainly qualifies as....anything."

It wasn't the time to stick up for Pansy, to maybe say the other woman wasn't quite as bad as Lisa had originally thought. Padma wouldn't take well to it. It wasn't really about Pansy though in the end, it was about Terry, even though the other woman wasn't willing to do anything about him. Lisa sat there, watching Padma carefully, who kept running her fingers over Lisa's bookcase, though she hardly seemed to be looking at them now. It had been cowardly to bring it up first, but Padma needed to know all the same.

"Are you okay?" She asked quietly.

"Of course," Padma said quickly, sounding almost angry with Lisa. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She turned around, her head held purposefully high to seem indifferent. Lisa caught her giving a quick glance to the full glass of firewhiskey she had turned down, but Padma didn't make a move towards it, choosing instead to sit down beside Lisa on the couch.

"Why are we talking about Terry Boot and...her?" Padma asked, tightening her outfit, not looking at Lisa.

"I assumed you'd want to know."

"Well, you assumed wrong," Padma snapped, this time definitely sounding angry with Lisa. She paused though, taking a deep breath, and trying to settle. She nodded to Lisa, and she accepted that was as much of an apology as she was going to get.

"I'm sorry," Lisa said quietly and carefully.

"Nothing to be sorry about." Still, Padma looked upset. It was obvious they were going to get nowhere talking about Terry though.

Lisa hesitated for a moment, trying to sort her thoughts in her mind. In the end though, she couldn't. It was why she had owled in the first place. If she could make sense of all this herself she wouldn't be contemplating, and she wouldn't be attempting awkward conversation with Padma.

"Michael forced the issue," she said finally, "said he fancies me, still. Merlin knows why. He wants to know why things stand as they are between us, why I'm not...friendlier."

Padma shot her a look full of pity, "I'm sure that conversation went well, considering I still don't understand the logic with the two of you."

"People in glass houses," Lisa muttered. Padma obviously didn't understand the idiom though, and Lisa waved it aside. It was a distinctly muggle saying apparently.

"It didn't go," she said instead, "I said I didn't want to talk about it, and left." When Padma didn't say anything, she raised her eyebrows, "Isn't this the part where you're supposed to tell me I did the wrong thing? That I should have stayed, tried for honesty, and made all our lives a lot more complicated." It was the reaction she had been expecting.

Instead, Padma shrugged, "Merlin, why? An answer like that would make me a hypocrite. I don't think I would have even given Michael the chance to corner me in the first place."

She had picked out the wrong person to owl. Maybe Parvati would have been a more sensible choice, even if Lisa couldn't count on the other sister to rely on anything resembling logic in her answers. Still, Padma was her friend. Lisa sighed, and filled her in on the rest, so she knew. What had happened at the school, and what had happened otherwise. She knew she didn't come off well in the story, more like a melodramatic first year than the adult woman she pretended at being. Jealous and petty, and unable to find a sensible way to put Michael off. Not that her reasons for holding him at a distance were entirely logical either.

They sat there in silence, Lisa sipping, and Padma staring. It lasted a long time.

"You need to talk to him," Padma finally said, so quiet Lisa almost didn't hear her.

She looked over at Padma, but the other woman wasn't looking at her. She was staring at the bookcase across the way. "I'm not cut out for this talk," she said, "but this...it's not working. I'm not saying be with Michael, because Merlin knows what you see in him anyway, but you're not fine Lisa. He's just indicative of it. Plus, well, it's been years and you're not over him and you never even kissed. You'll want to avada yourself when you see him taking up with some _Slytherin_."

"And no," she added when Lisa looked her way again after that statement, "we are _not_ going to talk about Terry."

They probably should though, even if they weren't going to.

"Potions aren't enough to make a life out of," Padma added. "I understand it goes against the grain but...unbend." Apparently she'd decided she didn't care about hypocricy.

Lisa thought about what Padma said. She had a point. Maybe it was the point that she'd needed somebody else to say aloud. The only thing was, was that it was easy to push aside emotions and tangled up feelings. It was something she had come to excel at. Embracing them was a different sort of challenge, and she wasn't even sure that she really wanted to.

However what she should do was a whole different story.

 

*************************

 

Michael had been back at his flat for a few days. The hospital hadn't kept him long, as the burns had healed after a day, and his lung function was entirely back to normal nearly as fast. The company had been nice enough to give him a week off to recuperate, once he'd had the facts obliquely explained by Harry Potter, an official auror and saviour of the wizarding world. He'd been kind enough not to mention that the reason Michael had been involved in the first place was that he had been interviewing for another job.

One that he hadn't got in the end.

That honour had gone to Pansy. He couldn't begrudge her it, because she'd deserved it, especially given her wider breadth of knowledge and experience, when his was mostly academic; plus, to be frank, a teacher should have familiarity with the dark arts even if they should refuse to embrace them. In the end, for all she'd probably rule with terror rather than kindness, she would make the better teacher too. He had been doing it mostly to escape the job he had, in all reality, for all he had wanted the position at Hogwarts.

Plus all there was that political nonsense that went along with her selection, which was probably a progressive and good thing, for the school and the headmistress, and for her.

So, in the end, he'd needed to retain the job he had. It was corporate, but it was potions, and he liked it – even if he didn't love it. Something would come along in the future, and if it didn't, he was content with the company development position. At least he was inventing, even if it was stuff that would appeal to the lowest common denominator most of the time. It was a good thing that he hadn't been sacked for considering leaving.

Now though, he had too much time on his hands, something that he had never been good with. There was only so much he could take of daily serials on the wireless, and he would not be one of those sad buggers sitting down at the pub mid afternoon drinking alone.

It meant that he was sitting alone in his flat though by contrast, reading the last of the books from his last rampage through Flourish and Botts, when the knock on the door came.

Middle of the afternoon, most of his mates at work, he was expecting one of his annoying neighbours when he opened the door. What he wasn't expecting to find was Lisa standing there, looking decidedly twitchy. Surprised, he just stood there for a moment. He hadn't seen her since the hospital, and hadn't expected to really.

"Can I come in?" She asked.

He hesitated, but nodded, stepping aside.

She hadn't lost the regal bearing she normally carried, but seemed rather less sure of herself.

"What's going on?"

The question caused her to hesitate, before drawing into her robes and drawing out a small vial. It looked like water filling it, which led him to the most obvious assumption, which she confirmed right away. "Veritaserum," she said, "I took it from my stores at the Ministry."

Michael had no real idea what was going on, "And you did that because....."

She handed him the bottle. "Put three drops into a glass of water," she instructed, like he'd never heard of the potion before. "No, make that orange juice. I had to take some during my security clearance for the Ministry, and no matter what they say I can taste it in water."

"And you will be taking this....why?"

Now Lisa actually looked unsure of herself. She never looked that way, so it was rather disconcerting. "We have to talk," she said, "I owe you that, and I owe myself that. I did some reading after Padma suggested I come over, muggle psychology books, and my repression is hindering my personal growth. However I am well aware of my inadequacies when it comes to....," she waved her hand, "this."

On one hand, it would make their lives that much easier. Three drops of the potion, and she would be spilling all her secrets, and she couldn’t run away from it and him. He would finally know what the bloody hell was going on with her and them. She was giving him free reign, and it was her idea. There was a part of Michael that was sorely tempted to take her up on it. However what he was hearing was that she needed a potion to talk to him, to attempt to emotionally engage, and that wasn't acceptable.

"No," he said decidedly, setting it off to the side. "Listen Lisa, I want us to actually have a conversation for the first time in years, but we're not doing it like that."

She looked disappointed. Probably the first time in history somebody had been upset not to be slipped truth serum in their drink. The thing was, it would be too easy, and it wouldn't be real – and everything could be blamed on magic. It was obvious she felt the same way on some level, because she wasn't arguing the point at all. She simply sighed, looking down at it, but then glanced back up at him.

"I'm not sure what you want," she said, "and I'm not even sure where to go with this."

"What happened," he countered instead with quietly, "that turned us from close friends that were almost something more into cold almost acquaintances?"

Lisa gave a short laugh, "You don't start easy, do you?"

No, but that was the whole point of them talking, wasn't it.

It was tempting to offer her liquid courage, but maybe it was best to not even go that route. Lisa didn't sit, so he didn't either. "Listen," she said, "I'm going to talk, and you're not going to say a word – allright? Because I'm not going to get through this otherwise." It was easy enough to nod, because he was fairly sure she was going to stalk out if he did anything else.

"I did...fancy you," she said, giving him a faint smile, choosing his antiquated wording, "that night in the common room, I probably would have let you kiss me if we hadn't been interrupted by Anthony coming down. I probably fancy you now, just as much. Not that I've been pining, I'm not a ridiculous girl, but every time we're together I'm reminded of it." Her statement confused him all the more, because she had never acted like that.

Lisa seemed undecided on the linearity of her explanation. "When I came to Hogwarts, listen, it was an adjustment. I came from a really rich family, did you know that? And an important one politically, in the muggle world. Then I came to school, and I was less than everybody else, just because of how I was born. I adjusted because of Ravenclaw, because it was less about those things with you all, but more about merit and intelligence – and I could do that. It just meant repressing the....the rest. And I got used to that. I got used to logic, and order, and dealing in things that made sense. Things like divination that didn't, I could drop that if I wanted to. You were there though, and you didn't really make sense, but I _liked_ you and it seemed like it could work and you understood what I was like and..."

She broke off, "And then Voldemort happened. Nothing made sense anymore. I couldn't believe it, how illogical the world had got, and my father died for it. I had to go on the run after almost going to Azkaban, like a common criminal and it was...hard, it was beyond hard. For that whole year, I didn't have a place, and it was a struggle to survive."

Michael still didn't really understand where he came into it. He watched as Lisa paced back and forth, deciding what to say next, but not really looking at him. He wanted to know too, what really had happened for her in those months, because she never talked about it, _never_ , and all he had were the scars on her wrist to see any lasting physical affect. But in the end, he didn't think this was going to be about that, and it would be a conversation to come later.

"We had a wireless," she said, "the group I was with for awhile. We got Potterwatch. Sometimes your name would come on there, when they reported the happenings at Hogwarts. I worried for you and I...it made me stupid. Because I had liked you, and you were being stupidly heroic, tempting the Carrows, and..."

He had never heard Lisa stumble so much over her words, but she kept jumping around. "You were this stupid hero of my daydreams," she said with a hollow laugh, "and it was ridiculous. I was just so out of hope those days, that I kept having this irrational visions of you sweeping in to...I don't know...save me. To find me a safe place to be, to stay with me, and I swear it made me weaker rather than just relying on myself instead of taking comfort in stupid daydreams devoid of any logic or sense."

Lisa stopped then, and looked at him expectantly, like that was the great revelation.

He wasn't really sure he understood.

"You treated me like shit because I had somehow became something you daydreamed about?" She inclined her head slightly in confirmation. "Because...it made you weak? Because....I don't even know exactly."

"Yes," was all she said.

Michael let out a bark of incredulous laughter, "That is the most ridiculous fucking thing I have ever heard."

She put a hand to her forehead. "I know! God, I know. I couldn't stop it though, and it was easiest just to hold myself apart. It was easiest in every respect, with my father and the fallout with my mother...and I had experience with withdrawing," She looked back at him, "I can't make proper sense of it Michael, and of you, and that scares me half the time. You could and have been my biggest weakness if I let you be, and I didn't think I could or should do that."

He wanted to tell her that that was friendship, and that was love, and that was family. You couldn't be without weakness, and those feelings and interactions wouldn't usually make sense. He had a feeling she knew that though.

"Is that your big dark revelation?" He asked instead.

"Essentially," she said. She seemed to have retreated in on herself again, closing down as the emotional outburst – at least by her standards – stopped.

"You're nutters," he said honestly.

She hesitated, looking annoyed, but inclined her head acknowledgement. "In some respects, yes, it's quite possible."

Michael smiled, he couldn't help it. He didn't _get_ what she was saying, not in the way she felt those things, but at least on a cerebral level he got it; despite her rather inadequate explanations. "In spite of that," he said, "I still fancy you."

"Despite the fact I've been treating you like I can barely stand you, I've barely given a word of encouragement, and I'm not fully capable of actually....dealing with emotions, unless I'm pushed to the brink?"

He thought about it for a second. "Yes." He probably got her in a way that most men wouldn't, and at least he knew to force her to try, when most men would happily accept the emotional distance.

"You're crazy too," she said finally.

"Most likely." He nodded.

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other, neither moving. Michael wanted her to make the first move, and another woman might have. This was Lisa though, and that wasn't going to happen. He might have analyzed setting a precedent of letting her depend on him too further things between them, but she had taken the larger step by coming here and trying to explain. It hadn't come easy to her, that he knew. Besides, getting together wasn't about logic and competition and who did what and when and how, they were destined to fail if he tried to make it about that.

If it hadn't been for her speech before, Michael might not have actually believed that she felt anything for him, even now. Lisa only had a thin lipped expression on her face.

"So you want to try...something...between us, then?" He asked, stepping closer.

She nodded at that, and he was gratified by the lack of hesitation.

"Good."

Michael didn't let either of them think it out any further. He closed the distance with two large steps. He didn't press her against the wall, didn't crowd her, but kissed her – cupping her head in his hands to hold her face closer to his. Slow, drugging kisses, when all he wanted to do was make up for lost time and grind up against her, but trying to slow it down.

He'd expected her to be hesitant, to need coaxing, because if she'd been carrying around this much baggage since they left school chances were fairly bloody high she hadn't been snogging anybody on a routine basis. Instead it was her who pushed up against him, teeth hitting teeth, turning the kiss rougher. If he was being honest, she was kissing with more raw enthusiasm then skill, but he didn't much care.

At least until she nipped at his lip by accident. "Ow," he muttered softly, pulling back for a second.

Lisa looked stricken, "I'm sorry, I don't quite know...I'm sure there is a book I could find at Flourish and Botts that...."

Michael rolled his eyes, "We don't need a bloody book, Lisa."

He kissed her again. For a moment, it was just as awkward, with her over thinking it. He didn't let her pull away though, and eventually it softened into something more natural as it became about _them_. Her eyes closed rather than staring expectantly at him, and she set her hands to resting on his hips as he backed up. Actual honest to Merlin physical contact.

They ended up on the couch, Lisa straddling him as he leaned back into the cushions. She looked surprised by the position, but he kept kissing her, his hands running up and down her back, tangling in her loose hair and pulling slightly.

Maybe there was part of him that would have always been scared of a moment like this, what it would be like with her. Maybe scared that there would be ice in her that wouldn't melt, but it wasn't like that, not at all. He thought maybe if he moved his hand, if he touched her _there_ , even through the material of her jeans she just might come. Not that he would. Not yet, but he wanted to.

"God, Michael," she said with a hitch in her breath, fingers digging into his shoulders. She sounded like she was ready to lose control, but fighting against it, pulling back instead.

Not wanting her to do that in any way, he made an impulsive decision.

He moved his hand, slowly though to give her time to shove it away, cupping her, hesitating before pressing into deeper between her legs. He didn't move any more, didn't do anything, simply kissed her shoulder and gave her a moment to decide if she was ready for this.

For a second she hesitated, and then she was kissing him, rocking against his hand as he moved his fingers, trying to seek rhythm. It wasn't instantaneous, and she was making a sound of frustration against his mouth as they went on, pushing down harder against him as she rocked slightly.

When she came, he barely noticed. She didn't emit a sound, but there was a hitch in her breath, and she shuddered slightly – relaxing against him.

"Okay?" He asked, running his hands up and down her thighs, hoping she wasn't going to pull away.

Lisa seemed to consider the question seriously. "Yes," she said finally.

She shifted off his lap though to sit beside him though.

 

*************************

 

The Leaky was busy. Very busy. This time they had actually all made plans to be there _together_ , not incidental meetups.

"You got to have all the fun," Terry was whinging into his drink. He hadn't been thrilled to hear he had been left out o f the most exciting part of their 'mission'. Lisa wanted to ask him how fun he thought it was to have eighty percent of one's body burned, how fun it was to have to cast hexes at authority figures from your childhood, or how fun it was to know that somebody wanted you dead. She bit her tongue against asking it though.

Anthony gave a smirk, practically seemingly like euphoria on his normally morose face. "Well, you're going to get a lot of _fun_ out of the experience anyway, aren't you mate?"

It would take a deaf blind and dumb first year Hufflepuff not to get his heavy innuendo. Pansy Parkinson was at a table near the back with Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini, and while the two tables had managed civil nods they hadn't done much else. It hadn't gone unnoticed however that she and Terry had come in together, and that they had been snarking with innuendo rather than hatred before parting. None of them were dense enough not to pick up on that fact.

"Excuse me," Padma said, getting stiffly to her feet, going to the bar on the pretense of ordering a drink.

Lisa couldn't help but watch as Terry stared at her going. They were the definition of complicated, the two of them. It was going to be too late for them one day soon, if it wasn't already.

Michael sat to her left. He kept glancing her way. He'd made a motion to take her hand, but she'd pulled hers back, not wanting that public display of affection.

She hadn't seen him since that night at his flat, for all they had made plans for the weekend. She had left rather early, citing work as the excuse. It wasn't her orgasm that had scared her, considering she'd had enough at her own hands in the past, studiously _not_ thinking of Michael as best she could; they were a necessary stress relief for a healthy young woman. In truth, it was because she didn't know what to do, or what came next. He made it seem so easy, with talk of taking it one day at a time, but it was anything but.

"You want to tell them, or should I?" Michael murmured now, nodding towards the others – Terry and Anthony now in their own private conversation.

"Tell them what?" Lisa asked, looking at him in surprise.

"About us."

"Oh," she replied, "I hadn't thought that was necessary."

Something passed over his face she couldn't quite identify. "I think it's going to turn into something out of a bad serial on the wireless of we try for a secret relationship?"

"Is it really a relationship?"

"You came on my hand," he said, though quietly for all his words were intense, "I think that we agreed there was more than a start of something even before that too." Apparently what came across her face was enough to even annoy Michael, "Right, so I was a little off with what you coming over implied. I thought when we talked of all this fancying, we were talking about something more than sex. Apparently I was wrong. Merlin knows how I've become the bird in all this, but I shouldn't have expected anything different from the ice qu..." He broke off quickly, but it had essentially already been said. His voice had grown loud enough too that is garnered the attention of Anthony and Terry, who looked at him in surprise.

Lisa got to her feet quickly, muttering an, "Excuse me," to the other two.

As she made her way to the bar, just to get away, she heard him offer a curt, "I'll be back," to the other men before coming after her.

They weren't alone at the bar, but nobody who was there was paying them any attention.

Lisa wasn't looking at him, she was waiting to catch the attention of the woman behind the bar, because she didn't walk to talk. She would have left if it wasn't the dead of winter, or if it wouldn't show her to be overset at his words. It wasn't that it was the ultimate insult, considering the fact a bloke on the last case she had worked had called her an 'uptight cunt' when she disproved his potions theory which was ten times worse, but it was more that it had come from him. She thought he'd understood a lot more than that.

"I'm sorry," Michael said quietly, standing close to her, not discouraged by her seeming lack of attention, "I didn't mean it like that."

"How did you mean it then?" Lisa said, her voice clipped, "There is only one universal meaning I think."

He hesitated without speaking for a moment. Lisa let herself believe for a moment that he had given up, and left her alone, a thought which relieved her because it would be so much _easier_ , but dismayed her because she was fairly sure she'd fucked up without meaning it. He didn't though, but continued, seemingly choosing his words carefully.

"It's hard to be easy going to with everything when it comes to you," Michael said. "I know I'm not getting involved with a woman who is going to shower me with kisses when I walk in a door, engage in public displays, or be comfortable with uttering affection. I know it's going to be complicated the two of us, if we're going to try and make it work. I understand that, and I want that, because it's you. I'm not going to expect you to change, because then you wouldn't be you."

"I," he hesitated again, "I just need something though. I need acknowledgement than I'm more than some bloke you went to school with, and I'm not some dirty secret that you just like when the doors are shut. That's it. I promise. I can't be everything, and accepting of _everything_ , not all the time though."

Lisa was tempted to give him a scathing retort, worthy of Padma, but she bit her lip on it.

She did take for granted his nature relative to hers. And there were reasonable expectations that he was allowed. Acknowledging him front of their friends was one of them. For a second, she just wanted to go back to a week previous, when things were more complicated and simple between them all at the same time, because he had literally no expectations. She would be able to be nothing but an entity on to herself then, and things would make sense even if they weren't easy, and her most likely future relationship would be with some Ministry bloke who didn't push her into anything but the fondness akin to the emotion she had for an old comfy sweater.

Then of course, she wouldn't have him. They wouldn't have this chance.

"You're right," she said quietly.

For a second he looked surprised, and then he grinned, "Well, it happens once in awhile."

At least it was him, because with other men, this would have ended far differently and with a lot more recriminations.

Lisa didn't kiss him, she didn't hug him, and she didn't even take his hand. She did give him a small smile though, that promised more than she'd given thus far. "If you like we can even let the Slytherins know when we're done telling Anthony and Terry," she said, trying to make a small joke, "so that Pansy can be relieved she doesn't have pretend to like you anymore to stoke my jealousy."

From the smile he gave her in return, she knew that for now that would be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for roses_at_sunset in the 2011 Wizard Love exchange on livejournal
> 
> Feel free to leave any feedback or thoughts back at the original livejournal post [here](http://idea-of-sarcasm.livejournal.com/93009.html) if preferred!


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